


Of Analysts and Aliens

by Seaward



Category: Criminal Minds, Stargate Atlantis, The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Bullying, Canon Character of Color, Canon-Typical Violence, Cultural Differences, Don't Ask Don't Tell, Grey-Asexual Character, Identity Issues, M/M, Spirit Animals, Touch-Starved, Wraith, dubcon, mentions of past relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 08:57:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 124,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8395465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seaward/pseuds/Seaward
Summary: Spencer Reid was ready for a change when a case led him to Cascade, WA and then to another galaxy. Who knew behavioral analysis could be adapted to unravel alien conspiracies or that an alien warrior from a destroyed civilization might connect with Spencer in ways no one on Earth ever had?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While this story wraps around a Criminal Minds case fic, it happens mostly in Atlantis (SGA) and Cascade (The Sentinel). The story is entirely from Spencer Reid's POV, staying as true as I can to how Spencer is portrayed in canon up to season 7 episode 2 (a low point for Spencer and his team, admittedly, plus spoilers). That said, I don't think you have to know anything about Criminal Minds or Spencer Reid so long as you like character driven stories. (I originally started watching Criminal Minds because I liked Spencer Reid so much in crossover fanfic.) For both The Sentinel and Stargate Atlantis this takes place after canon, and I tried to peg ages to what they would be in 2012 or so. Also, anyone looking for absolute political correctness will probably be annoyed, as I'm writing about unique, often geeky individuals who think their own blunt thoughts about identity, race, intelligence, whatever. I do my best with it, and I did check what I could with all the wonderful, random people I know. Special thanks to Elayna and Diony who each read and gave feedback on the entire thing (although I still reserve rights to all remaining mistakes as mine).

_Johnny wondered where Pepper was. He felt safe and at home. The strong man was holding him. But he couldn't let go of the leash in his hand. Even a six-year-old knew something was wrong when there wasn't a dog at the end of the leash. He wanted to call for Pepper. Somehow he couldn't find his voice._

#

Spencer was trapped between Morgan and Emily. Morgan let his arm and knee brush against his teammate in the two person seat on the BAU jet, and Spencer thought he meant it to be supportive. But Emily stood so close on Spencer's right that he couldn't ignore the heat of her living body. His shoulders pulled in before he could think about it, not a tell he usually worried about with his team. But ever since Emily came back, he wanted to be as hard to read as the rest of the behavioral analysts.

Morgan nudged him. Spencer forced his shoulders to relax. More than anyone else, Morgan found ways to work around Spencer's touch aversion. Especially at the start of a case, the larger man would brush against him while sitting or walking, even poke at him in a teasing manner. To Spencer it seemed a familiar touch would be more reassuring after a case—or when people like Emily, JJ, Gideon, or Elle left them—but maybe it was different for Morgan. He mostly needed to burn off anger at the end of a case, as well as when Emily turned out to be alive. Morgan let out anger where Spencer pulled in hurt.

Emily he couldn't figure out at all right now. She'd let them believe she was dead for seven months, then seemed to think a quick apology and a hug was all Spencer needed to get over it. Or maybe the way she was crowding him, her black sleeve actually brushing against his white one, was supposed to be reassuring.

JJ spread pictures of three young boys on the table in front of them, the scent of her perfume almost making him sneeze. Spencer started commenting instead, even as he reached for a paper case file, "Targets age four to six—the unsub probably lacks social confidence with adults—not fixated on a specific physical type." For only three examples, the boys pictured were quite diverse. Spencer couldn't pin down the racial mix of the middle boy, even knowing those were the terms law enforcement preferred for descriptions. He was chubby with an epicanthic fold and a low nasal bridge. Such epicanthic folds were most common in people of Asian ancestry but also occurred in many indigenous American tribes. The boy's warm brown skin color could suggest the latter, or his coloring could stem from a different portion of his ancestry than his eye structure. Either way, many abductors would not have chosen him in addition to the pale skinny blond boy in the picture to his left, the first abductee, let alone the curly-haired olive-skinned older boy pictured to his right. Spencer analyzed their facial proportions and symmetry, looking for the less obvious similarities that had mattered to one of their narcissistic unsubs, but found nothing.

Emily leaned forward to take a closer look, and Spencer jerked back. His mind screamed that she had never been dead. He had to get over it.

JJ's cool blue eyes flicked up at him in disapproval over Emily's bent head. The interplay chilled Spencer and left a lump in his throat. He didn't know how JJ could have lied to him for half a year as he mourned Emily. Even if he accepted that other people didn't feel things as strongly as he did or at least not the way he did, JJ had seen how it tore him apart. She'd let him cry on her couch for the first ten weeks, and then watched how he threw himself into firearms training for all the months since. The one time they'd tried to talk about her deception, JJ didn't even flinch at the idea of him almost giving in to dilaudid again. If she couldn't see past their professional masks to the part of Spencer that died a little with Emily's loss, she could at least accept his instinctive reactions to touch and allow him the time he needed to heal.

Spencer opened his file and read fast enough not to be shocked when Penelope, from the laptop screen where she was teleconferencing in an outfit favoring lime green today, dropped the bombshell. "The first two victims, Louis Dupree and Forest Williams, were found alive, but with no memory of the 24 hours they had been missing. Neither boy had been sexually assaulted, but traces of semen were found on Forest and may have gone unnoticed on Louis. Both seemed otherwise unharmed. Each was taken on a Thursday and returned 24 hours later, with a week between their abductions. Initial tox screen came back negative. Our third victim, Jonathon Rinaldi was taken yesterday, Thursday evening at around five, while walking his dog. We weren't called until after midnight because it took several hours for the parents to officially report the abduction."

"Otherwise unharmed?" Morgan made the words sound obscene. Spencer cringed at the pain and anger radiating from his teammate. He thought about how Morgan had been sexually abused as a teenager, by the manager of the youth center in his close knit African-American community. The specter hung over his friend but was never directly addressed, and Spencer wondered if anyone on their team ever received the counseling or care they truly needed for their past traumas.

"Why exactly was our team called on this?" Emily asked without looking up from her tablet. Spencer didn't think she would have ignored Morgan's protest a few months back. Spencer was caught between concern for her and annoyance at her disregard. At the same time, he knew he had to push past his own feelings and focus on the case.

"Cascade PD correctly reported the first abduction to the FBI in accordance with the Lindbergh Law," JJ answered in cool, professional tones. "After the second, a Child Abduction Rapid Deployment team was sent out, but Forest reappeared before they found anything. The psychologist from that CARD team, Ms. Daniela Hernandez, stayed in Cascade to work with the children and with the Cascade Major Crimes Unit, under Captain Simon Banks. It seems the Mayor of Cascade, Washington is not happy with results so far. Also, the current abductee, Jonathon, appears to be from a powerful family."

"The Mayor might have a point," Rossi said. "One kid not remembering anything could be an individual's response to trauma, but with two there should be some information trail."

"Presumably, that's what the CARD psychologist is working on." JJ shrugged.

"The fact that the three children involved are not related means these are non-familial abductions," Spencer said, "That classifies them with less than one percent of child abductions. The return at 24 hours suggests they are probably not transported more than 50 miles as in a typical stranger kidnapping. Only 35 percent of non-familial child abductions involve boys and only 10 percent keep the child for 24 hours or longer. Honestly, I'm not familiar with any comparable case."

"Pretty boy can't cite another case? That's a first." Morgan elbowed him in the ribs.

Spencer couldn't be offended by the jibe. If he could trust anyone present to stand by him, it would be Morgan. "I could cite the case of Michael Devlin who abducted two boys, three years apart, and used them in his production of child pornography. Similarly, Kenneth Parnell abducted two boys, seven years apart, for his own sexual gratification. But in both cases the abductor kept the children, pretending they were part of his household, and there were years between each abduction. Cases of multiple abductions within a month usually turn out to be serial killers, which is clearly not the case here."

"And we need to stop this one before he starts killing his victims," Hotch said while rubbing his forehead, "because once he escalates, there will be no going back."

#

The captain of major crimes bellowed from the door of his private office, "You must be the Behavioral Analysis Unit from the FBI. I'm Captain Simon Banks." He was a dark mountain of a man who strode across his bullpen without a look to either side. "Ellison, Sandburg, join us in the conference room."

A light-skinned man with very short, graying hair who would look more intimidating next to anyone other than Captain Banks, stood and followed without ceremony. A smaller but clearly fit man with a ponytail, earrings, and a colorful vest rose and smiled disarmingly in the general direction of the BAU team. "Hey, we've got a room all set up for you. Heard you needed a lot of white boards, so we pulled some in from downstairs." He waved for them to follow. The other two had already entered a room with three white boards and a large table. "I'm Dr. Blair Sandburg, by the way." As they entered the conference room he motioned and said, "That's my partner, Detective Jim Ellison, and you sort of met our boss, Captain Simon Banks."

"I'm Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner." Hotch smoothly introduced the rest of the team, and those in front shook hands. Spencer stayed to the back eager to get past the formalities and start filling those white boards. It was clear from the stance of Ellison and Banks that the BAU team wasn't exactly welcome, but that was nothing new. Sandburg caught Spencer's interest though, not just for wearing a vest and having hair even longer and wavier than Spencer's used to be, but for the way he didn't fit in with his environment, and yet his alpha male co-workers let him lead the introductions and dominate the conversation.

"The strangest part is the boys' complete lack of memory," Sandburg was saying as he waved an arm downward, possibly toward a lower floor where the boys had been questioned. "Daniela from CARD insists we avoid any triggering language around them, but she's tried the whole gambit of art and play therapy. There's no indication of bad touching, no drawings of anyone unknown to the families. The younger boy, Forest, doesn't even seem to know he lost a day. He's four, speaks two languages but isn't solid on days of the week in either. To him it's like he started out playing in one park and ended up playing in another. He asked a mother sitting on a park bench with her baby if she knew where his grandmother had gone, like he expected her to be on the bench facing the slide, even if it was a different slide than where he'd started."

Hotch cut in, "Our files show you ran tox screens that came up negative. We'd like to send samples to an FBI lab for further testing."

"Ms. Daniela Hernandez sent those in last week, along with a semen sample. We haven't heard back." Banks glared at Hotch as if blaming him personally for the delay at the FBI labs.

"I'll see what I can do to get that expedited." Hotch showed no emotion as he pulled out his phone, but he didn't look away from Banks.

"Sounds great," Sandburg cut in, bouncing forward as he picked up a file from the desk. "We've got this, Captain. We'll bring them up to speed and get back out there."

"Well, hurry up." Banks sounded gruff, but Sandburg smiled at him. Ellison was almost as stone faced as Rossi or Hotch, but his eyes met his Captain's as he gave a slight nod.

#

Half an hour later Spencer and Emily were following the two locals along the route where Jonathon usually walked his dog. Morgan and JJ had stayed behind to question the parents while Hotch and Rossi revisited previous crime scenes. It was early morning and Spencer wished for more than his thin purple sweater as the chill, damp air became more of a drizzle.

Ellison stopped beside a redwood grove that bordered a small playground. He didn't say a word as his eyes darted from tree to tree. "This is it."

Sandburg stepped closer to his partner and waved his hands as he began to talk. "The other boys were both taken from parks. This is the only park along the route Jonathon's parents described, so it seems likely—"

"Chief, let the profilers do their job. You need to put on your forensics hat and take some pictures and samples for me."

As Sandburg pulled a camera out of his shoulder bag, Spencer asked, "You're a forensics consultant for the department?"

Sandburg talked even as he pointed the camera where directed, and Spencer watched but couldn't spot anything significant. "I see my work as more interdisciplinary than that. Officially I'm a special consultant assigned to major crimes, but I consult with our medical examiner and forensics lab on other cases. My doctorate is in sociology with a focus on criminology and forensics, but my bachelors and masters were in anthropology, some physical, but most cultural. I try to bring an outside the box perspective to dealing with crime scenes or people, living or dead."

"You had a unique perspective the day you were born, flower child." Ellison pointed to a partial footprint that Spencer could see but had no reason to believe was related to their investigation.

Sandburg dutifully photographed from all angles while saying, "I'll pass your compliments on to Naomi."

"Don't mention child abductions to your mother or she'll think they're about to take you." The older detective shook his head in mock scorn even as his eyes darted about the scene.

"She has you pinned for that already." Sandburg's flip response and the way he moved so naturally in and out of the larger man's space made Spencer suspect the two were partners beyond their work.

"Yeah, she purified me with sage and that crystal last visit."

"She was purifying the aura in the loft. You know she means well."

Spencer was amazed the two men would be so open about their personal lives in front of profilers, or any law enforcement for that matter. It had taken a couple years of needling from Morgan before Spencer had given up any information about his previous relationships, with men or women. He wondered how the two men with them could be assigned as partners if they were in the sort of relationship they seemed to be admitting. Maybe Sandburg's status as a consultant skirted regulations for that. They certainly bickered like an old married couple.

"Here's where the dog was set free. Bag some fur, furball." Ellison pointed to fur caught in the bark of a redwood, and Sandburg diligently took photos before pulling out gloves and an evidence bag.

Spencer assumed a city the size of Cascade had a crime scene team they would call out under more clear cut circumstances. "What makes you so certain the boy was grabbed here?"

The large detective's face became a mask of strong lines once more. Perhaps he'd forgotten for a bit that they had Feds tagging along. Calmly he pointed to the sites of several photos. "Dog fur matches fur on the front mat at the boy's house. Sneaker print beside it facing into the trees is small enough for the boy. Boot print matches some at a previous crime scene. Pressure on the toe suggests the man bent forward to release the dog and pick up or talk to the kid."

"You think the unsub met Jonathon face to face?" Spencer asked, surprised by the detective's detailed observations and the connections he'd made so far.

"Unsub?" Sandburg asked.

"Unknown subject," Spencer clarified, noting how the posturing law enforcement officials they usually worked with were rarely willing to ask. "In your work, you focus on a crime and consider suspects as a secondary matter. We're called in to analyze an unknown subject, who often is a suspect in a crime, but rather than focus our analysis on just the criminal behavior, we try to understand the likely background and psychology of that unknown subject. In this case, if they met face to face, it's possible the boy knew the unsub."

"Or he could have engaged Johnny in conversation about the dog or had some animal trick to show him." Sandburg continued talking the way Spencer sometimes did himself. It was fascinating how Ellison seemed to relax at the chatter while Emily tensed slightly, the way she often reacted to Spencer's monologues. Sandburg recited information about lures frequently used in stranger abductions, including asking a child to help find a lost pet or to help carry something to a car. The lures were well known to the BAU and so basic to human behavior that Spencer remembered how he first learned about such redirection as a child.

#

_Spencer was three when a big kid found him hiding in a tunnel at the bottom of the play structure._

_"You lost, kid?" The older boy wore a red shirt and had red to brown scabs all over his elbows and knees._

_"No," Spencer answered. Then concluding the boy was old enough to be in school, which was where people went to learn stuff all day long, Spencer asked, "Do you know what schizophrenia is?"_

_"You're weird." The boy brushed sand off his hands and some fell on Spencer's knee._

_Spencer shifted back the few inches he could in the tight space. "If you asked at school, would someone tell you what schizophrenia is?"_

_"Teacher'd probably tell me to look it up in th' encyclopedia. That's a bunch of books with letters on the outside. That word might be under 's' or 'c'." The bigger boy relaxed into the curve of the tunnel wall._

_"It starts with an 's.' I think it's hurting my mom and making my dad angry."_

_"Stupid kid. You can't tell people stuff like that. They'll beat you up." The older boy's voice grew rough as he spoke louder._

_"Are you going to beat me up?" Spencer thought he shouldn't talk to people in the tunnel on the play structure in the future. Also, he needed to learn to read bigger words and then find an encyclopedia._

_"Got any money?" The boy's face moved close to Spencer's, too close._

_"No."_

_"Got anything you can give me not to beat you up?"_

_"I can tell you what I know about schizophrenia."_

_"Stupid kid. If you ain't got nothin', say you've got a big brother who will beat me up."_

_Lying confused Spencer. When he lied, people didn't usually believe him. But the big kid's face moved back as he suggested it. That seemed good. "You think that would work?"_

_"Sometimes."_

_"But not this time."_

_"Nope." The big kid still blocked the way out of the tunnel._

_Spencer didn't have anything with him except his clothes, which would be too small for the older boy, who was eyeing the end of the tunnel more like he wanted to leave than like he wanted to beat Spencer up. For a moment, Spencer wondered if there was anything else he knew about, besides schizophrenia, that someone older than him who knew about encyclopedias might want to hear. "I know where there's a dead bird that's been partly eaten. You can see its guts. There are some small flying bugs that are probably laying eggs—"_

_"How far?"_

_"Edge of the park."_

_"Okay."_

_Spencer didn't get beaten up that day. Instead, he taught the older boy all about decomposers and food chains. He also learned there were things, like his mother's schizophrenia, that it was better not to tell anyone about. And without knowing a word for it, Spencer learned about redirection._

#

"Do you know what form of redirection the unsub might have used with the first two boys?" Spencer asked as Sandburg finished his explanation of common abduction ruses and dropped his hands.

"The lost dog ruse could work," the consultant said, "Even if the other boys didn't have dogs. The case wasn't handed to us until the second abduction, so we couldn't find out much from the first crime scene. But at the second, it seemed the boy was also lured to a wilder area on the edge of the park."

"And you recognized the same boot prints at both?" Emily asked, finally stepping up from behind and showing some interest.

"We identified several possible shoe prints, but this matches one," Ellison stared down at the half print as he said it.

"You say that from memory?" Emily asked.

"He's good like that," Sandburg said, pushing in close enough that his arm brushed his partner's.

"Do you know if you have a photographic memory?" Spencer asked. "I have an eidetic memory, which means I can reproduce aspects of a specific image in my mind as if I was looking at the original. Highly verbal adults are less likely to present with eidetic memory, and I've also been clocked at reading 20,000 words per minute and am obviously quite verbal. However, I was tested twice with the Picture Elicitation Method and scored very highly on eidetic memory even months after first viewing an image. Unfortunately, eidetic memories may fade over time, and a subject with eidetic memory cannot control which aspects may fade or distort. For me, I do best with spatial relationships and basic forms. True photographic memory, on the other hand, would be much more useful in cases like footprint recognition, as most animals with photographic memories appear to use it primarily for pattern recognition. Photographic memory is usually equated to storing a snapshot in the subject's mind from which details can accurately be studied at a later time—"

"Dr. Sandburg," Emily cut in. "Would you happen to have a photo on that camera of the comparable footprint from the previous crime scene?"

Emily didn't look at Spencer as she interrupted. He'd learned to take such interventions from his teammates with some grace. He pushed his hands into his pockets and watched as Sandburg found the comparison photo on his phone and held it beside the newly identified print. It looked like an exact match to Spencer, but they'd print out larger copies to post on the evidence board as soon as they returned to the station.

When they finally walked away from the park, Spencer was surprised that Sandburg fell in step next to him and asked, "Is there a standard test to differentiate between eidetic and photographic memory or would you recommend the Picture Elicitation Method in combination with something else?"

Spencer couldn't help giving a lopsided smile as he plunged into an explanation of the preferred testing options.

#

Hotch walked into their assigned conference room just as Spencer finished working up his geographic profile on the map of Cascade. "I've marked the abduction sites in green and the dump sites, well, perhaps return sites would be more accurate for now, in red. If you look at them in order, they're moving outward from this empty area. Both sets center on the same region, suggesting the unsub starts from and takes the boys back to someplace in this area." He pointed to the area he'd outlined in the center even as Hotch tried to interrupt.

"Reid—"

Spencer held up a finger. "So far, the unsub has only used parks marked with some green area, meaning they include a wooded area of some kind to hide in, and he hasn't skipped any closer park to obscure his pattern. Depending on where his exact starting point is,"—Spencer pointed to the starting area he considered most likely based on spatial reasoning and traffic patterns—"that means either Huld Park or Kanasit should be next. The trick is to stake out both without alerting the unsub to our presence until he's safely away from Jonathon, and hope he hasn't changed his pattern yet."

Hotch gave him the barest nod while motioning toward the door. "We'll add that to the profile and suggest setting up at both parks. But first, I need you in an interrogation room downstairs. The psychologist from the CARD team, Daniela Hernandez, is meeting with Louis Dupree, the five-year-old first victim. Hernandez has refused to let any of us interact directly with the children. But when we mentioned your psychology degree, she agreed to let you sit in, so long as you don't ask directly about anything Louis can't remember."

Spencer eyed his superior suspiciously as he followed. The older profiler was keeping one step ahead as they raced down a hall on a lower level. His face was blank and his tone flat. "You didn't mention that I only had an undergraduate degree in psychology, did you? You let her believe it was one of my doctorates. Do you realize I've never had a single class in child psychology?"

"You'll do fine," Hotch answered without looking back or breaking stride.

"Kids don't like me." Spencer noticed a few people look his way as they passed a dozen chairs lining the hall beside a door that read "Juvenile Division."

"Jack likes you."

Spencer hadn't known that. He wasn't even sure if it was true, but he wouldn't risk talking back when Hotch mentioned his son.

After half a minute of silence, Hotch opened a door and Spencer found himself in an observation room. Ellison, Sandburg, and Rossi were already there. They watched through one way glass and listened through a speaker as a woman in a blouse embroidered with butterflies sat on the floor beside a sprawled out young boy. The metal table that must otherwise be used for interrogations was covered with untouched white paper, crayons, and colored pencils. The woman and child sat on a rainbow rug that had been spread in the far corner with dolls and stuffed toys lined up along one side. The blond boy was stroking a stuffed elephant while the psychologist asked, "Would the elephant like to play with any other toys?"

The boy shook his head without looking up.

"Maybe the elephant could come to the table and color with you?"

The boy didn't respond at all.

"I'm going to sit at the table for a bit. You can play with anything you want, and in a few minutes, a friend of mine named Spencer is going to come visit us."

Hernandez moved to the table as she'd said and kept an eye on the boy without making it obvious. She seemed reasonable and to be handling the situation well as far as Spencer understood child psychology.

The boy continued stroking the elephant. Spencer wondered how often any adult really understood what was happening inside a child's mind.

#

_The bell rang to tell kindergarteners to line up at the end of recess. Five-year-old Spencer tossed aside the stick he'd been using to draw shapes in the wet sand. He'd thought he was alone on a side of the field that wasn't used much during the cold and soggy month of January._

_Freezing fingers jerked him back by the collar on his coat and shirt. The top button on his coat dug into his throat, making him gag as he lost his footing._

_The angle of the grab had set off alarm bells of "big kid" in his mind. When the bully dragged him backward through wet sand, Spencer was scared by the older boy's strength. He caught a glimpse of blue jacket and red scarf as he tried to breathe. His eyes squeezed almost shut with the bright light reflecting off clouds above him and the pressure on his throat._

_The bully muttered "freak" and flipped Spencer over so his face and the whole front of his body hit wet sand. He pushed side to side on Spencer's head, catching and pulling sections of hair. Spencer gasped in a breath the one time his mouth met air. There was sand in his mouth anyway._

_Then he was dragged across the sand on his stomach until a second bell rang calling the older kids in from recess. A sudden drop landed Spencer on his nose. His eyes watered, but after a moment he pushed up to hands and knees. He stayed like that until he could breathe easily. All the while he wondered why someone would attack him like this, what was wrong with him this time? He kept to himself, never spoke about his mother, barely spoke at all. Even if he couldn't identify the bully in particular, Spencer was sure he'd never spoken to any of the kids that much bigger than him._

_Finally, Spencer stood and wiped sand from his face and clothes as well as he could. There was no way his teacher, Miss Mather, could miss seeing what had happened. Even without a mirror, Spencer could feel the scrapes on his face. Wet sand and dirt had left ground in stains on his jacket and jeans. Spencer wasn't sure he could hide this. He was much better at hiding by not speaking. It was harder when adults knew what to ask._

_He trudged through empty halls to his kindergarten classroom and quietly opened the door. The entrance was in front by the coat hooks and the blackboard. Miss Mather stopped the list of activities she'd been writing on the board while reading it aloud to the class. She looked down at Spencer as he removed his filthy coat and hung it on his hook._

_"You're late, Spencer." She turned from him to the rest of the class and said, "It is your job as students to come inside on time after recess." The whole class stared silently at Spencer up in front with the teacher. He waited, confused and out of place. Miss Mather faced him again and said, "Spencer, you'll come to my desk for the first ten minutes of lunch as a consequence for being late."_

_Spencer nodded and took his seat. He'd expected her to ask about the bully or how Spencer got so dirty, but he was often wrong about other people's reactions. The annoyance she radiated didn't surprise him at all._

_At lunch, he went to stand by the teacher's desk as the other students filed out. He read the teachers' bulletin that sat at the side of her desk on bright yellow paper. It listed changes in library times, rules for student Valentine exchanges, and testing for a gifted student magnet school with free bus service._

_When Miss Mather sat down, she didn't ask about the bully or why Spencer had been late. She said, "I don't think you understand what it means to be in school, Spencer. You need to raise your hand to answer more and you have to talk with your partners when you're assigned to work together on projects."_

_After a pause, Spencer realized she expected him to answer. "Yes, Ma'am," he said._

_"Tell me, Spencer, do you not participate because you're worried about giving the wrong answers?"_

_"No, Ma'am." He knew the answers to all the questions and didn't need to check them with the teacher or anyone else. Also, he didn't like the attention that came from speaking in class. He'd hoped that the students who liked that attention would be happier with him if he stayed quiet. Instead, they ignored him. Until now, Spencer had thought being ignored at school was a good thing._

_"I notice you don't volunteer to read words aloud during circle time. Do you know what sounds the letters make?"_

_Spencer was shocked that the teacher didn't know he could read after all these months. He'd read every book in the room already. Deciding it was time to try another strategy toward school, Spencer said, "I can read. I read that bulletin on your desk, and I want to be tested for the gifted magnet school."_

_"What?" Miss Mather asked and looked down at her desk._

_Spencer pointed to the item in question on the yellow piece of paper._

_"You couldn't possibly read that."_

_Spencer picked up the paper and read the entire paragraph about the Millikan Gifted Magnet School and setting up appointments for intelligence testing on Thursday when the district psychologist would be visiting. All he knew about intelligence testing was what his mother quoted from F. Scott Fitzgerald: "The test of a first rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function." Spencer often functioned with two opposed ideas in his mind, like thinking that Miss Mather must have seen enough to understand about the bully and thinking that with the way she reacted she must not have understood at all. Confusing as the two thoughts were, Spencer was able to read for his teacher and answer her questions, so he thought he should be able to pass the intelligence test for the magnet school._

_Miss Mather interrupted his thoughts by saying, "Bring me your math workbook."_

_Spencer went to his desk and brought back the workbook._

_The teacher flipped through to the end, only taking a few moments to glance at assorted pages. "When did you finish this?"_

_"October 14 th at 11:14 in the morning," Spencer said._

_"Why didn't you tell me?" Suddenly, the teacher wasn't acting like a teacher anymore. She curled the workbook in her hands and stared at it._

_"You said one of the jobs of students was to sit quietly at their desks when their assignments were completed."_

_Miss Mather reached out a hand to touch his shoulder, making him flinch a little. She didn't seem to notice. "I'll find you the next math workbook and sign you up for the intelligence test on Thursday."_

#

Staring in at the silent boy with the elephant toy and at the frustrated psychologist in the butterfly blouse, Spencer asked the other observers quietly, "Is there anything in particular you want me to try?"

Hotch answered in his normal voice, "At the very least, we'll see how he reacts to an unknown male. Maybe you can get him to talk."

Sandburg shook his head. "Parents report he's barely even talking at home, and he wasn't like that before." In contrast to Hotch and Ellison, Sandburg's face was a kaleidoscope of emotions: care, sadness, curiosity, hope.

"You'll come up with something, Reid. You're good at thinking on your feet," Hotch said.

Ellison let out a quiet, "Hmph."

"That's something people say about me, too," Sandburg offered by way of explanation. "My first day here I took out a terrorist with a vending machine."

Without shifting his gaze from the one way glass, Ellison said, "Then he convinced a paramilitary leader that he was a cop with long hair because he worked in Narcotics."

Hotch replied like a proud parent with, "Reid once posed as a medic in a hostage situation. He used some magic trick and pretended to cut a microchip out of a paranoid schizophrenic unsub."

At that point Hernandez nodded toward the glass. Spencer took that as his cue to leave the viewing area and enter the converted interrogation room. He was very aware of the eyes on him, and he shifted to his most relaxed posture, as if he was about to talk down an unsub.

The psychologist greeted him calmly with her eyes still on the boy. "Spencer, I'm glad you could join us. This is Louis."

"Thanks for having me," Spencer answered in kind. "Good to meet you, Louis."

He'd been planning to sit at the table, but Louis looked up at him with an intensity that seemed to pull him down to the rug. As soon as he sat, the boy knee walked over to him, dropping the elephant without seeming to notice.

Louis reached out as if to shake hands, and Spencer, who avoided that greeting with adults when possible, carefully raised a hand in response. Louis ignored the gesture and placed the palm of his hand flat against the center of Spencer's chest.

Spencer considered words to offer reassurance or clarify what the gesture meant, but the boy's profound silence seemed to demand Spencer stay quiet as well.

Then, with his right hand still pressed above Spencer's heart, the boy used his left as if wiping Spencer's nose.

Spencer could not remember the last time someone had touched his face. To let someone wipe his nose the way a parent might help a child was at once appalling and strangely comforting. Then Louis ran gentle fingers along Spencer's lips and eyes. The excuse to close his eyes was precisely what Spencer needed as his mind flashed with pictures and notes from the doctor's report on the second boy abducted. That child had been found with semen wiped across his eyes, nose, and mouth. Only Spencer's professionalism and his need to stay calm for the victim kept him from choking or starting a full blown panic attack. With his eyes closed, he allowed Louis to tenderly reenact a form of violation a five-year-old could never understand.

Then the boy hugged him, pushing his face into Spencer's neck.

Spencer opened his eyes and looked to Hernandez, who had no poker face at all in that moment. She'd clearly reached the same conclusion as Spencer and needed time to recover.

While Spencer always felt awkward when adults hugged him, he couldn't pull away from the clinging child. Instead, he slowly lifted one arm, making sure he wouldn't startle Louis as he wrapped an arm around his back and gently held him.

After what must have been two or three minutes, Louis showed no sign of letting go. The psychologist however had recovered, and gestured to the seat next to her and the coloring materials on the table.

"Hey, Louis," Spencer said quietly, "Want to draw a picture?" The boy didn't move or make a sound. "We could do it together."

Louis shrugged or possibly nodded against Spencer's shoulder. Either way, it wasn't a refusal. As Spencer moved to stand, the boy wrapped his legs above Spencer's hip. Spencer stumbled, but managed to lift the boy and carry him to the table. Then there was nothing for it but to sit down with the child in his lap. He picked up a crayon and said, "Let's color."

It was a relief when Louis turned around to sit on Spencer's knee and face the paper. Then the boy went still again.

Seeing he had a green crayon, Spencer started drawing grass along the bottom of the nearest paper. Even if he hadn't studied child psychology, he'd read enough and seen enough children's art posted in crime scene homes to know most young children would draw grass in a single row at the bottom of the page, with no perspective or hints of three dimensions being condensed down to two. "What color do you want to use?" Spencer asked.

Louise picked up a red crayon without looking. He drew what might be an incomplete circle or an almost closed letter "c." Spencer had read a bit about art therapy after failing to understand pictures drawn by Sammy, a young witness with autism, but nothing he'd read helped him interpret actual drawings. He knew the therapist needed to provide a comfortable space with appropriate art supplies and develop a relationship of trust. Spencer did not want to think about why Louis might trust him, but the spontaneous role playing was probably better than any prompt he could have come up with for both art therapy and possibly giving them insight into the case. At the moment, Spencer didn't care if they learned anything more from the mass of round shapes Louis was drawing. Art therapy was also meant to relieve stress, build insights into self, and give victims a creative outlet to process what they'd been through. He was glad Hernandez put the needs of the children above the needs of the investigation by asking the agents to avoid triggering questions, and he hoped she would take the lead in helping Louis to interpret his artwork.

For a while after the paper was filled with near circles and less defined curves, they all sat silently together. Finally, the psychologist asked, "Is there anything more you want to draw?" She waited. "Can you say or draw anything to help us understand what you made here?"

There was another long silence, and then Louis started tapping the crayon twice inside each shape. Spencer's first thought was of eyes. There was something about the rhythm or the way Louis moved. He couldn't be sure. Louis always made two dots in a row, but sometimes one landed outside the circle or curve. He stopped long before filling all the round shapes.

Louis set down the red crayon and lifted his fingers in a "V" shape to his own eyes. It reassured Spencer that the boy pointed to his own eyes and didn't use the motion he had before when pretending to spread something into or around Spencer's eyes.

Hernandez glanced at a shiny watch on her wrist. "Is there anything else you want to draw or play with today?"

Louis placed one palm flat on his drawing and then pressed the hand to Spencer's chest again.

"Do you want Spencer to keep your drawing?" she asked.

Louis nodded, without smiling, but it was a stronger nod than before.

"Thank you. I appreciate it," Spencer said.

Hernandez stood up and held out her hand. "I'll take you back to your mom now."

Louis grabbed one of Spencer's hands instead.

Hernandez smiled. "Spencer, would you like to walk with us to meet Louis' mom?"

"Sure, I'd like that." He slid the boy off his lap and stood without Louis ever letting go of his hand. Picking up the drawing with his free hand, Spencer let the psychologist lead them to the door. She opened it, looked out, and raised an eyebrow. Then she motioned for Spencer and Louis to go ahead, down the hall to the left.

Spencer understood as soon as he saw the people sitting along the hall. Fewer than half were the same sort of parents and teens he'd seen outside the juvenile division on his way in. But every spare seat had been filled. The people sitting quietly, looking bored and nonchalant, included Ellison, Sandburg, Hotch, Morgan, JJ, Emily, Rossi, and four or five other faces he recognized from major crimes, including an admin and an elderly cleaning woman.

Spencer kept his gaze straight ahead, fixed on a neutral distance, and walked slowly to accommodate Louis' smaller steps. He knew his teammates would watch for whatever reactions they were hoping to elicit, and he wouldn't do anything to bias that. At the same time, he hoped they didn't have anything planned that might upset the boy.

Because he was intentionally not watching, Spencer had no warning when Louis stopped short and reached out a hand to press against Dr. Sandburg's chest.

Sandburg gave a shy smile and said, "Hey, little man. What can I do for you?"

Spencer made sure his grip was loose enough that Louis could pull away if he wanted to repeat the ritual of wiping his other hand across Sandburg's eyes, nose, and mouth. Instead, Louis moved his spread fingered hand to his own chest and then continued down the hall.

Near the elevators, he stopped silently and without reaching out in front of a woman in jeans and a blue sweater. She had blue eyes with bags under them that were bloodshot enough to suggest she'd been crying earlier in the day. Still, she crouched down to say, "Hi, Louie. Did you do some coloring with Miss Daniela?"

Seeing their faces side by side, it was clear this woman was Louis' mother. She seemed kind enough even if Louis was ignoring her and looking at the floor. Spencer looked to Daniela Hernandez who had just caught up to them. "Louis did very well today," she said to the mom, who stood back up. "He took well to my colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid, and made a drawing for him. Louis greeted him by placing his hand on Spencer's chest,"—Hernandez demonstrated the action on herself—"and touching his face. Is that something you've seen before?"

"No, never." The woman reached out to pet her son's hair, an action he ignored but didn't seem to mind. "Do you think it means something?"

"Why don't I call you later so we can talk? I think Louis worked hard today. He might be tired."

"Of course, thank you." The mom nodded awkwardly to Hernandez and then Reid as she took her son's free hand.

The psychologist squatted down to Louis' level and said, "Time to say goodbye now. You have to let go of Spencer's hand."

Louis did as he was told.

Spencer said, "Goodbye, Louis. It was good to meet you, and thanks again for the drawing."

After Louis and his mom left in one elevator, half the people in the hall headed for the other elevator or the stairs. They reconvened in the meeting room by major crimes. Spencer attached the drawing to one of his white boards, and Hernandez snapped a picture with her phone.

"Dr. Sandburg," Hotch began, "Could I ask you to stand up here beside Dr. Reid?"

"Trying to see what we have in common besides PhDs?" Sandburg asked with a smile.

"I used to have longer hair, and I often wear vests," Spencer said. "But at the moment, I'd say we're both light skinned, though not extremely so. Curly brown hair. Medium build, narrower than most of the comparison males, relatively colorful clothing. Who set that up anyway?"

Sandburg smiled, "Guilty, though I didn't expect to be the one in the line up to elicit that reaction."

"They both have non-threatening, androgynous body language and obscuring hair around their eyes," Emily mentioned. "We might have a second unsub, possibly someone who took care of the boys during the day they were held captive."

"Or the boys might not have found the unsub threatening," Sandburg said. "The way Louis acted out spreading semen on Dr. Reid's face was tender. The way he combined it with a hand to the chest looked almost ritualistic. The Sambia people of Papua New Guinea use a series of six rituals which can begin with boys as young as six that include the ingestion of semen and pushing reeds into nostrils as part of the path to becoming a man, a path completed only when the boy becomes a father."

"I've read about those rituals," Spencer said. "The description I saw indicated that the treatment of the nose was meant to produce bleeding and pain and the semen was usually ingested through an act of oral sex. I saw no mention of the hand to the chest or of spreading fluids gently across mucus membranes."

"Agreed, but our suspect could be borrowing elements from other rituals," Sandburg said, speaking faster and practically bouncing in time, "And the use of semen has a pretty obvious symbolic connotation, especially in regard to prepubescent boys."

"I read a biography of Melville that talked about natives of the Sandwich Islands and Tahiti anointing their faces with semen for several religious rituals," Spencer said.

"So our suspect could be drawing ideas from recent world travel, family traditions, or something he read. How does this help?" Ellison asked in frustration, and Sandburg moved back beside his partner. The big man visibly calmed in his proximity.

Rossi moved to the front. "To catch the unsub, we need to get inside his head. In this case, we seem to have a signature involving the points where semen was put on each of the boys' faces. In most cases, finding semen on young boys would suggest an unsub who needs to feel powerful and who is finding sexual release from exercising power over the boys. In this case, the victims show no sign of physical harm. If the doctors are right about no sexual contact and the semen serves a ritualistic purpose, the unsub may not even generate it in the presence of his victims. It might not even come from the unsub, although I think that's unlikely. Instead of a serial molester, we may be looking for someone acting out a delusion or cultural belief that this ritual is helping these boys or accomplishing some other goal. We may not understand the precise goal or delusion, but so long as our unsub stays organized and sticks to his pattern, we could be dealing with someone more functional and less violent than we originally profiled."

"Combine that with the two parks Reid targeted," Hotch said, "And we need more of an undercover operation than staging SWAT teams. SWAT might actually escalate the situation and endanger more bystanders."

"The detectives from major crimes have all worked undercover, and I know some female officers from vice who can pass as suburban moms as easily as they pass as call girls," Ellison said.

"Let's round them up and give the profile," Hotch said.

#

Before five o'clock, Spencer sat across from Hotch playing chess on a permanent chess table in Huld Park. Two female local officers sat on the grass sharing a basket of strawberries while pretending to relax on what was for Cascade a surprisingly warm and sunny late afternoon. Ellison and Sandburg were a little ways down the block in a pick-up truck, pretending to study a map. The rest of the BAU team was covering Kanasit Park with two local detectives, Brown and Rafe.

Spencer was ready to end the current chess game in four moves when he saw Jonathon approaching the playground from the sidewalk nearest the wooded area. Hotch wasn't in a position to see the boy but could get to his radio without being obvious. Spencer hovered a hand over his next move and spoke quietly facing the board. "Don't look now, but our latest abductee is approaching the park alone from the sidewalk on the wooded side." At that point Ellison drove past in his pick-up, heading in the direction from which the boy had come. "Ellison might be in pursuit of the unsub, but if we hold position here we can find out what the boy says when he first makes contact and possibly question him before he's traumatized by other concerns or discontinuities."

Hotch was already whispering into his radio, so Spencer moved his knight and sat back as if waiting for his next turn. He pretended to study the board, and Jonathon bypassed the maternal types on the grass and fixed his eyes on Spencer. The boy held up a wadded dog leash in his right hand as he said, "Please, can you help me find my dog? I had him just a minute ago."

"Um, sure," Spencer said, playing along. "Can you show me where you were when you realized the dog was missing?"

Hotch had gone silent and tucked his radio away. The female cops on the grass were each keeping an eye out in opposite directions.

The boy stepped closer and pushed the leash against Spencer's chest, in almost the same place Louis had touched, but with three fingers wrapped around the leash so he couldn't completely flatten his hand.

"Was there an adult with you?" Spencer asked.

Jonathon blinked at him and pinched at Spencer's shirt with his thumb and one finger that wasn't holding onto the dog's leash. He pulled a little, and Spencer let himself be led back to the sidewalk. He could feel Hotch following a few feet behind them, the two cops on the grass maintaining their positions.

The boy didn't talk as he pulled Spencer by the shirt all the way to the corner of the block. Then Jonathon let go and started twisting the leash in both hands. "Pepper." He glanced around, as if looking for the dog.

"Is this where you last saw Pepper or where you last saw someone else?" Even if Jonathon was a year older than Louis and seemed more communicative at the moment, Spencer didn't want to push too hard and possibly make the repression or trauma worse. But if Ellison wasn't already tracking the unsub, they needed all the information they could get.

"Trees," Jonathon said. "There were trees when I lost Pepper." The boy was still looking up and down the street. Then he looked up at Spencer with wide eyes, "But this is where I didn't have her. I don't recognize this block."

"It's okay. I can help you get back home and find your dog, but I need to know how you ended up here."

The boy reached up to clutch Spencer's shirt again, and it was good that Jonathon was taller than Louis, or it would have been hard for him to reach with Spencer standing. Taking a chance, and not entirely comfortable with what he was doing, Spencer reached his hand out to press the palm against Jonathan's chest.

"He did that," Jonathon said. "I wasn't alone until I came here."

"What did he look like?" Spencer asked. Although Hotch remained silent a good six feet away, pretending to check his phone, Spencer could sense the tension emanating from the older agent's body.

Jonathon shook his head. "He felt like you."

Taking another chance Spencer asked, "When you reached to touch his chest, were you reaching higher or lower than with me?"

"Higher." The boy stepped right up against Spencer so his hand slid up to Spencer's collarbone. The position made Spencer extremely uncomfortable with someone pressed against his front and in a position to grab his throat. Spencer reminded himself he was helping a child, and tensed his muscles to avoid twitching and to appear calm.

"So he was taller than me. Can you tell me what he looked like?

Jonathon spread his thumb out farther. "Wider."

Accepting that his informant was only communicating about touch, Spencer tried to ask about build in words a six-year-old might know. "Was he softer or bonier or more muscular than me?" Spencer asked.

"Muscles," Jonathon tapped against Spencer's chest, "harder."

At that point Spencer heard two sets of feet running up from the other side of the block. The way Hotch moved to intercept those approaching suggested they weren't a threat. Then Spencer heard Ellison and Hotch whispering and knew the locals had seen the unsub drive away but hadn't seen the man's face.

"Did the muscular man who was a few inches taller than me bring you here in a car?" Spencer asked, and he felt as much as heard the other three men go still and silent in order to listen.

At first Jonathon just shook his head, but then he twisted his hand sideways on Spencer's chest with the thumb down. "Last time, twisted, leave now."

"Did he tell you to 'Leave now and walk to the park?'" Ellison asked from behind Spencer.

Jonathon acted as if he didn't hear the question, so Spencer repeated it.

"So alone in between," Jonathon was starting to sound like he might cry.

"It's okay, Jonathon. Tell me anything you can. What happened before the car ride?"

Jonathon's hand shifted back down so his palm rested above Spencer's heart and the finger spread out upward as much as they could while still holding the leash. Then Jonathon reached up with his left hand and Spencer had to tilt his face down and slouch to let the boy trace his nose, lips and eyes in almost exactly the same pattern Louis had used.

"We need a description," Ellison said when the boy's left hand dropped to his side again.

"Did you touch the other man's face?" Spencer asked. "Can you describe it?"

Jonathon shook his head but reached his hand to the back of his own neck, pushing fingers up into his slightly greasy and mussed hair. "Prickly short here."

"Anything else?" Spencer asked when the boy went silent again.

"He felt like you inside." Spencer forcibly reminded himself that neither of the other boys had been sexually violated, so hopefully that wasn't what Jonathon meant. Jonathon added, "Like me. Safe."

"I'm not sure I understand," Spencer said.

"It will grow stronger. I'll understand when I grow up," Jonathon said. Spencer waited, sure he was hearing the words from the ritual, or at least what the unsub had said to Jonathon. "We won't have to be alone. There will be many minds like ours." Then the boy began to shudder. His hand fell away from Spencer's chest, and as he clutched at the leash once again and said, "Can you help me find Pepper?"

#

It was hours later, and Spencer couldn't eat the food set out in the conference room. He'd accompanied Jonathon through most of the medical exam until they could hand him off to his impatient parents. The expected samples of semen were found on the boy's face, but nowhere else, for which Spencer was grateful. The unsub was sticking to his ritual, his signature, with no violent or sexual escalation so far.

Spencer had let Hotch handle all the conversations with the medical personnel and family, but the boy kept reaching out to Spencer until his parents finally pulled him away. Promises that they'd go home and see Pepper were barely enough to make Jonathon let go of Spencer's shirt. It was too much touch under the wrong circumstances, and Spencer felt violated. He excused himself from dinner to call Garcia but instead ended up hiding in a bathroom stall as memory washed over him.

#

_Spencer was naked and tied to a goal post. The cold ground under his bare feet brought back memories of being dragged through wet sand in kindergarten. He felt the sand in his mouth and scrapes on his face even as he knew that bullying had happened a long time ago. And he'd been fully clothed then. Spencer shook his head trying to clear it. The temperature had dropped fast after sunset. It could dip below freezing in December in Las Vegas. Spencer was skinny and starting to shiver. He'd tried to work his hands up and down to loosen the ropes, but he was pretty sure he'd rub all the skin off his wrists before he freed himself that way._

_Spencer opened his eyes. It was darker than he'd thought and he was shivering harder. Not sure if he'd slept or something else, Spencer stretched against the ropes holding him and sucked in a breath. His legs shot out pins and needles as his shoulders ached and his wrists protested being scraped raw. Helpless. He hadn't felt so helpless since kindergarten when nothing seemed to make sense and no one seemed to care if he was bullied._

_The Millikan Gifted Magnet School had been better. He'd still been too smart. The kids didn't like him or share his interests, but sometimes they were impressed by what he knew. He'd spent his recesses in the library, but in class, there were always kids who wanted to work with him for his brain. At the time, Spencer thought he'd learned how to speak his mind sometimes and still keep hidden the most alien parts of his psyche._

_Now he realized the gifted program had been an island of relative safety. They'd given him coursework to prepare him for high school, even AP classes, early. But back in the typical school population, he was hunted. He'd fallen back into barely speaking, showing as little of his true self as possible outside of class work. In just a few months, he was reduced to the bullied and confused child he'd been in kindergarten._

_A girl had set him up, played him for the naïve outcast he was. The entire football team had tied and taunted him while half of his new high school watched. They'd called him a dork, a nerd, and baby dick. He told himself it didn't matter. Certainly his intelligence was nothing to be ashamed of. As for his genitals, he was only eleven. He'd read that it was not unusual for boys to show no signs of genital enlargement or pubic hair until anywhere between nine and thirteen. He'd kept his mouth shut and not explained it to the older students who circled around him, touching him. Without a word, he'd let them tie, taunt and humiliate him. Even knowing his genitals were normal for his age, he hated being naked and exposed. He hated that half the school had seen him and seemed to think he deserved to be treated this way. Even if he was a freak and never seemed to understand people well enough, he couldn't believe he'd let this happen, that he was so helpless in the regular world._

_Movement at the edge of the football field caught his eye. Until the crowd had left, Spencer hadn't realized how secluded the field behind the school was, or that no one passed that way on a Friday night. The shape approaching from the distant right was dark with only a few streetlights behind it. A girl dressed in layers of black, long black sleeves that covered down to her fingers, black coat, black boots up her calves, black hair with some streak s of another color, dark makeup on a face with golden skin and a broad nose beneath it all._

_Spencer was caught between wanting to call out for help and hoping she'd pass by without humiliating or hurting him further. In the end, he couldn't make a sound, as if even that choice had been taken from him._

_The girl walked right up in front of Spencer. She glanced down his body then watched her boot as she dug a heel into the dirt. Reaching down into her boot, she pulled out a knife, like a scalpel or a narrow utility knife._

_Spencer stared at the knife as moonlight glinted off the blade. The night seemed brighter, as if the full moon had come out from behind clouds. Whatever his dad had done before he left, it never involved knives. But Spencer didn't flinch. He couldn't summon the energy to care, or maybe he was just too numb._

_"Don't move," the girl said. Then she squatted down in front of him and slipped a finger under the rope around his right ankle._

_His leg jerked as if he'd been burned. Fear shot through him with the memory of football players grabbing him, stripping him, and holding him to the post._

_"I said don't move. This knife is plenty sharp enough to cut skin. Trust me, I'd know."_

_Spencer tightened his leg muscles, pressing his right foot hard into the ground to keep from twitching. He often startled at touch, was oversensitive to it at the best of times, but he'd been that way long enough to develop strategies for control. He kept his leg still despite the continuous pins and needles, despite the way the girl's curled fingers seemed impossibly hot against his chilled skin._

_In a moment she had the rope off his right foot. Spencer tensed his left leg to keep still as she reached over to cut that rope. "My name is Amy," she said. "I know you're Spencer. We went to the same school for a couple years. I saw you in the library a lot. We weren't friends there, and we aren't going to be friends here. It wouldn't help either one of us to be seen with the other. But just so you know, I wouldn't have stood by while they did this. If I'd known and couldn't help by myself, I would have gotten someone who could."_

_"Thanks." It was the only word Spencer could force out. The girl, Amy, knew him from Millikan. Even if he didn't remember her, had probably never spoken to her, Spencer felt himself suspended between what he'd been there and what he was now. He wanted to grab back the tolerance and occasional respect that he'd known before rather than have Amy see him as only this, humiliated and silent._

_"The library here isn't as good," he said. "They only have textbooks for the courses offered here. Other than classics I've already read, most of the fiction is banal and pedestrian. The average student at this high school reads at a 6.2 grade level and chooses to read fewer than four books per year. The librarians seem uninterested in special requests and do little to quiet large groups that mostly use the study tables to scheme and gossip."_

_Amy snorted as she moved around behind him. It took some concentration for Spencer to keep his body still with Amy's knife where he couldn't see it. At the first twitch of the rope on his wrist, Spencer thought she'd slipped and cut him. But as every slight motion of the rough weave seemed to cause the same sensation, Spencer realized he'd been the one to scrape his wrists raw. That pain was his own fault._

_As Amy freed his hands she said, "Mr. Z who teaches physics has lots of books in his room, college textbooks, other science stuff, even some math puzzles. He's in there at lunch and after school a lot. He likes smart kids and won't kick you out."_

_His hands came free, and Spencer couldn't completely stop the whine in his throat as he brought them forward for the first time in hours. Staring at the red circles of scraped skin around each wrist, he managed another, "Thanks."_

_"You know where they put your clothes?"_

_"No." Spencer moved his hands to cover his groin, remembering his humiliation as she reminded him of his nakedness._

_"Chill, I have two younger brothers." She was taking off her coat as she said it, and Spencer knew he should refuse but couldn't think of any other way to get home. He couldn't risk anyone asking questions if they saw him sneaking home naked. If anyone ever came to his mom with questions on one of her bad days, he knew they'd take her away to a mental hospital and put him in foster care or worse. That made Spencer think of Amy's earlier promise that if she couldn't help sometime in the future, she'd get someone who could. He wondered how to ask that she not get anyone else involved without making her suspicious._

_In addition to her coat, Amy had pulled off the long-sleeved black shirt that covered halfway down her hands. She had a black turtleneck underneath, but the sleeves weren't as long. Spencer's eyes were drawn to a series of short, parallel cuts across her wrists, visible even by moonlight._

_She saw where he was staring and said, "Shit. Don't you mention that to anybody." Then she shoved the long-sleeved black over shirt at Spencer. "Put that on. It's a guy's shirt anyway. You can keep it and grow into it."_

_His hands were so numb that Spencer felt like he was pushing cans of soda through the sleeves, and his shoulders and back pounded with pain at every move, but Spencer manage to cover himself. He held the shirt closed, knowing there was no chance his fingers could manage the buttons._

_Amy reached out and then snorted when Spencer flinched away. "Seriously, after all this you're going to freak if I do the buttons?"_

_He ended up letting her button the shirt as he held it closed and a little out from his body. It was meant to fit a grown man and tuck in to pants, so on Spencer's prepubescent frame it covered all the important parts and looked a bit like a nightshirt. He found himself saying, "I won't tell anyone your business, and I'd appreciate it if you don't bring anyone to help with mine. I'll understand if there's nothing you can do if I get bullied in the future. But I'd rather not involve adults. I prefer to take care of myself."_

_"Yeah, right." With the shirt buttoned all the way down, Amy helped Spencer into her coat. "How far is your house?"_

_"A few blocks. I'll be fine."_

_"You're full of it. I can walk you home. Then I can maybe take my coat back, 'cause there might be questions if I came home without it."_

_She started to walk off the field, back out to streets and civilization. It seemed like an alien world that Spencer had almost forgotten they were part of. He followed, wondering if his Mom would even notice when he came home, let alone if he was wearing just a shirt. His numb feet pounded like tiny jackhammers when they reached the cement sidewalk, and Spencer doubted that he'd ever get his sneakers back. They were the only pair he'd had that fit, and he wasn't sure how he'd get money for new shoes._

_"Which way?" Amy asked._

_He led the way to his house in silence, not wanting anyone to hear or notice him. In the front yard, he started to take off the coat._

_"You can go inside and put clothes on first, if you want." Amy looked at his house, probably noticing how dark it was. Spencer knew he'd find his mom sitting in the dark, probably in her room. That meant it hadn't been one of her better days. It also meant he wouldn't have to explain anything to her._

_"I'm just going to take a warm shower as soon as I'm inside. I can bring the shirt back to you tomorrow."_

_"No," she said with a scrunch of her face. Spencer realized it was the closest to a show of emotion that he'd seen from her so far. Maybe he didn't understand social conventions, but that seemed unusual now that he noticed. "I don't want the shirt anymore. Keep it. Maybe it will fit you someday and you'll be glad I left it with you."_

_"Okay, thanks." He handed her coat back and quickly made his way into the house._

#

Spencer clutched his own shirt the way Jonathon had earlier and tried to push back his memories of the day that Amy rescued him. Now he was a grown man who fit the shirt she'd provided back when he was eleven, and he was hiding in the bathroom overcome by two kids who'd touched him in ways they didn't even know were disturbing.

He fumbled out his phone and called Penelope Garcia.

"Hey, genius man, what can I do to help?" Somehow, Penelope never teased in ways that bothered him.

"I don't suppose you found any matches for the ritual from our profile?"

"Nothing from police reports. I'm searching on scholarly articles, but that's an internet cat of a whole other color."

Spencer huffed out a laugh. No one but Penelope could have him laughing on a day like today. "If anyone could herd electronic cats it would be you. I was wondering if you could search recent military reports as well. Jonathon described the unsub as taller than me and variously described his chest as wider, harder, and more muscular. He also mentioned the back of the man's hair being short and prickly, so I'm thinking a man like that reenacting a ritual might be recently returned from military service someplace abroad, with tribal rituals involving semen. The unsub told him, 'It will grow stronger,' and that he'd understand more when he grew up."

"Ick, creepy." Penelope pulled the double "e" out into a mock shudder he could hear over the phone. "I can send you all the creepy scholarly articles on semen and coming of age rituals I have so far."

"Can't hurt to learn whatever we can. Also, can you send me any papers by Dr. Blair Sandburg?"

"The consultant you're working with? Why?"

"He's interesting. We had an actual profiling conversation with citations of tribal rituals. Somehow he switched to police works and forensics from anthropology, and I'm not sure what else. It seems like he and his partner see and hear things even our team might miss."

"Ah, sounds like a crush." Her squeals made it easy to tell when she was teasing him.

"No, not like that at all." He might admit it to Penelope after the fact if it was, but in this case it was not. Besides, he was as certain as he ever was about such things that Sandburg and Ellison were a couple. Spencer explained to Penelope, "Sandburg is basically their version of me, so I'm curious what he's studied that I haven't and if some of it might be useful to our team."

"I don't even have to meet the man to know our Dr. Crime Fighter is better than theirs, but I'll send you his papers along with the rest as soon as I follow up on some problematic lab results. Toodles, my favorite brainiac."

#

As he followed Hotch into Cascade PD the next morning, Spencer's mind was swimming with all the papers Garcia had sent him, the ones related to the case and the ones written by Blair Sandburg. While Sandburg's total number of publications might only be impressive outside of academic circles, the variety of periodicals he'd published in was astounding. He'd done everything from prestigious peer reviewed articles published in four distinct academic fields to home remedies published in Mother Jones.

The oddest work Garcia had found wasn't any of the ones for the case, mostly about semen rituals in isolated communities, but a purported work of fiction Sandburg had written about tribal protectors called Sentinels. It incorporated information from Sandburg's published works on Peru and herbal remedies but had apparently been released without the author's permission and caused quite a press fiasco. The premise was that while some people had a natural genetic advantage to hear from a greater distance or taste more nuances in foods, there were a few individuals with extreme abilities in all five senses. Certain tribal groups, especially in South America, had built up legends about these people they called Sentinels emerging from experiences of isolation or hardship to protect the tribe. Cultural practices evolved to protect Sentinels from "zoning out" if they focused too extremely on one sense, and a Guide was often chosen, who developed a special bond with the Sentinel and an empathic connection to the needs of the tribe.

Sandburg's story about Sentinel and Guides was formatted as an academic thesis, but he had publicly dismissed it as a work of fiction, written for his own amusement and submitted to a publisher by mistake and without his permission. The entire work was never supposed to have been made publicly available. Spencer suspected the copy Garcia had forwarded might not have been obtained through completely legitimate channels. Luckily, while Spencer still preferred paper files, he had come to terms with reading basic background information on the tablet Garcia had given him. That made it easy to carry the novel length work in addition to all of Sandburg's other papers and the potentially case-related materials including descriptions of tribal rituals, CARD studies on interpreting children's witness statements, and an extensive lab report. Otherwise, he would have been carrying a file box full of papers into their conference room.

Spencer had barely started listing possible ritual connections on the whiteboard when Emily and JJ walked in, chatting and carrying large cups of coffee. Emily carried an extra cup, which she handed to Morgan with a smile only half as big as the one he gave her in return. Spencer told himself he didn't care, that he was glad at least Emily and Morgan were rebuilding their friendship after the whole fake death fiasco.

But JJ must have seen something because she bumped Spencer's shoulder as she passed saying, "It pays to be nice to people."

"Seriously?" Spencer grated out before he could stop himself. "Is that how you're going to raise your son? Tell him to play nice so he'll have friends who bring him treats?"

He regretted the words immediately, knowing they were on a case and he shouldn't have mentioned her son anyway. At least it was only their team present so far, and Hotch and Rossi were on the far side of the room pretending not to notice.

JJ opened her eyes wide and stared at him as if he was the only one out of line and she was totally blameless.

He wanted to tell her how obvious her manipulations were, all her looks, taunts, and supposedly accidental intrusions into his personal space had to be as obvious to the other profilers as they were to Spencer. Or maybe they hadn't noticed or didn't care. Even Spencer realized that this wasn't the time or place to address the issue directly. Instead, he set his dry erase marker down and said, "Excuse me, I'm going to get myself some coffee."

He didn't miss the team's eyes on his back as he quietly left the conference room. None of them followed. Instead, he found both Ellison and Sandburg watching as he made his way to the break room. Sandburg caught up with him saying, "Let me show you a place across the street with much better coffee."

"Did the whole bullpen hear that?" Spencer asked.

Sandburg waved the worries down with one hand, but seemed to already know not to touch. "Naw, we were about to walk into the conference room and changed course when we realized your team might need a moment. Not my place to comment, but as the local guide, I want to save you from the perils of break room coffee."

It was hard not to be amused by Sandburg's use of the word "guide" even though Spencer couldn't admit to reading about "Guides" and Sentinels. He glanced sideways at the observer who today was wearing a beige jacket over a rose colored shirt with the top two buttons undone. Silver earrings dangled just a centimeter below his ear, contrasting with his dark, wavy hair. If Spencer wanted to be completely honest with himself, as well as Penelope, he would have had a crush on the man, mind and body, if it wasn't so clear he belonged with his partner. There was something honest in the wide open blue eyes and slightly quirked mouth. No doubt the detective could obfuscate with the best of the BAU, but on a deeper level, he seemed genuine and friendly. Spencer figured he could use a friend, even if only for a few minutes. "Lead on, local guide."

At the coffee shop, which was a homey place almost directly across the street from the station, Sandburg ordered for himself and Ellison and asked what he could get for Spencer. Spencer insisted on paying for his own, but while waiting through the barista's backlog, he decided to ask Sandburg about something niggling at the back of his mind.

"With your rather eclectic background, would you have any insights on DNA testing?"

Sandburg pushed his hair back behind his ears. "Just the basics for forensics. Something come back from the Fed labs?"

"They called it a failed analysis, and they're running all samples again. But I had Garcia, our tech analyst, send me the full report last night." Sandburg circled a hand, asking to hear more, so Spencer continued. "One of the conditions that could upset DNA testing is chimerism. In 2002, Lydia Fairchild was taken to court when tests showed her children could not biologically be her own. Further tests revealed that Fairchild was a tetragametic chimera, meaning she probably merged with a fraternal twin in the womb. In her case, different organs had developed from different cell lines, but there have been cases where chimeras had cells in their blood or semen that would appear to be from two different individuals."

At that point, an older woman in bright spandex wrinkled her nose in Spencer's direction. Luckily, the barista called their order, and after a stop to liberally doctor his coffee with half a cup of sugar and a little cream, Spencer followed Sandburg out of the shop and back toward the Cascade PD.

"You're out of my league on the DNA stuff," Sandburg said as they crossed the street, "but let's run it by our local medical examiner. Name's Dan Wolfe, and he's very open-minded."

Spencer followed the consultant to the morgue in the basement where they were greeted by a large man with a ponytail, broad cheekbones, and a white coat. "Blair, my brother, what brings you to the morgue before I even have a body?"

"Nice for a change, isn't it?" Sandburg clapped the medical examiner on the shoulder as he waved his other arm back toward Spencer. "A friend from the BAU, has a question about DNA tests that I thought you might understand, because, whew"—Sandburg waved a hand over his head—"It's way over my head. Dr. Spencer Reid, this is Dr. Dan Wolfe."

Wolfe studied Spencer for several minutes before stepping forward to offer a hand. Spencer accepted and shook hands, not even feeling uncomfortable in this instance.

"I'm not an expert on genetics," Wolfe said.

"I'm not a medical doctor," Spencer said, glancing around the sterile, white room. "None of my doctorates are even in life sciences."

"Doctorates, I see." Wolfe nodded and kept looking a Spencer, but he didn't seem put off.

Spencer started explaining the case and showing him the test results on his tablet. Soon they transferred a copy to Wolfe's computer with a larger screen attached. "The FBI lab is retesting, but I'm wondering if the pattern of misreads in this data could suggest a chimeric individual or semen mixed together from two different people."

Wolfe sorted and rearranged the data in ways Spencer didn't understand and said, "I'm going to need a little time with this, but there's definitely a pattern to the errors across samples. They all fall in the same regions with only a standard error rate elsewhere."

"If it helps," Spencer said, "our team works with a great technical analyst, Penelope Garcia. Her info is at the top of the file I gave you."

"I might take you up on that. There is something strange about these results. But how did you spot it without even sorting?" Wolfe was studying Spencer again.

"I read fast and have an eidetic memory," Spencer replied. He didn't know how to put into words the way he'd seen an unexpected pattern in the error calls, even before he'd started researching chimerism and other issues that could derail a DNA test. He'd naturally used a form of cognition he generally associated with math, but that he thought others might express as a gut feeling.

"Keep your eye on this one, Blair. He has a powerful spirit, much like yours." The ME turned back to Spencer and looked him in the eye, "Good to have you here."

"Uh, thanks for your help." Spencer barely managed to reply before heading back toward major crimes. Something in Wolfe's reference to spirits and "much like yours" had him recalling Jonathon's words, "He felt like you inside… Like me. Safe." Then there were the words that might be from the unsub's ritual, "We won't have to be alone. There will be many minds like ours."

#

By afternoon, Spencer was happy to be left alone with the whiteboards. The rest of the team was out interviewing families and chasing down the few leads they had. Spencer was trying to sort and organize components from the various rituals he'd researched the night before. Unfortunately, there was too little documentation and too much they didn't know. Still, Spencer needed the time alone. He'd already swallowed six ibuprofen at once in an effort to stave off a migraine, and while no one from his team had pulled him aside over the incident with JJ that morning, he knew that was coming eventually.

When the conference room door swung open the last person he expected to see was the local medical examiner. "Can I help you, Dr. Wolfe?"

Wolfe set his own open laptop on the table and said, "The lovely Ms. Garcia says she would like to Facetime if you can set up her usual screen. Is the rest of your team around?"

Spencer shook his head as he opened and powered up the laptop they'd last had Garcia on. He was uncomfortable with computers in general, but he had no problem remembering what steps to take, so long as nothing went wrong. "No, but I saw Sandburg and Ellison a little while ago."

"I'll find them," Wolfe left as suddenly as he'd arrived.

Spencer clicked to start Facetime when prompted and the screen filled with Garcia in teal and pink sparkles. Spencer sank into a chair across the table and closed his eyes as the glare blurred his vision.

"You are overcome by my splendor, I can see." Then Garcia's voice lowered, "What's wrong, my knight in sweater armor?"

"A geographic profile is much better suited to a two dimensional whiteboard space than the ritualistic profile I'm trying to invent on the board over there." Spencer waved vaguely with one hand.

"Don't be a tease. Now you have to pick the laptop up and show me."

"It doesn't make any sense," Spencer shifted the laptop sideways as he rested his elbows on the table to let his palms press into his temples.

"Wow, that does look squirrely. Turn me back." When he did, Penelope said, "You have a headache again, don't you, sweet knight?"

"It'll go away if I stay inside."

"Migraines don't just fade in the shade," Garcia quipped as Sandburg, Ellison, and Wolfe entered.

"Oh, you have a migraine, man?" Sandburg asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

"It won't get that far. I took ibuprofen." Spencer couldn't deal with the concerned gazes of three near strangers, so he turned back to Garcia on the screen. "Are the rest phoning in?"

"Just Hotch. Let me get him on the line quickly." Garcia's ponytails bobbed in a puff of pink and teal.

"Great, I'll grab some of my special tea," Sandburg said. In moments the man was back with a honey jar and a steaming mug with a tea ball in it. Spencer was a bit alarmed when this man he knew had published home remedies in Mother Jones announced, "This is great for all kinds of headaches, stress, pretty much anything that causes brain pain."

Spencer sniffed, but it didn't smell like much other than maybe dried grass. "What's in it?"

"Nothing tribal people haven't been using for hundreds of years," Sandburg enthused, still whispering.

"Nothing that registers on a drug test either," Ellison said in a regular voice, but not too loud. "I made him test all his stuff years ago."

Spencer looked to the ME for back up. "Blair has the instincts of a healer, although I'm curious about the honey."

"You should see how much sugar this man puts in his coffee. That's why I left the top inch of the cup empty." Sandburg said it in such a matter of fact way, and still at a whisper, that Spencer couldn't take offence. Instead, he set to sweetening his tea as Garcia brought Hotch into the meeting by phone.

"Alright everyone, prepare to be amazed by the technical wizardry that comes from my magnificent self working with the extremely insightful Dr. Dan Wolfe," Penelope said.

"The original idea was Dr. Reid's," Wolfe said quickly.

"And Dr. Lu at the FBI labs was quite helpful by the end as well, but let's not get ahead of our story." Penelope folded her hands under her chin, playing to her image on screen. "The good Dr. Reid pointed out that our failed DNA tests could be the result of mixed DNA, either from multiple contributors or from an individual unsub with an uncommon genetic condition. The dedicated Dr. Wolfe and his brilliant assistant, moi, combined our knowledge to compare the issues with our sample to others described online and reached a surprising conclusion. We are in fact dealing with mixed DNA, but it is most likely the result of gene therapy."

Spencer immediately saw several useful implications despite his aching head. "Gene therapies are usually delivered via a viral vector, but the original virus is deactivated, so there shouldn't be any risk of contagion from the unsub. Germline gene therapy is not even open for investigation, so this probably doesn't have anything to do with his use of semen, except possibly in a symbolic way, as he may feel he was burdened with faulty genes. Also, gene therapy trials are extremely limited and highly regulated. If our unsub participated, that should make him easy to track."

"Reign in those horses, oh doctor of nigh infinite knowledge." Garcia gestured with a sparkly pony toy. "Once Dr. Lu at the FBI labs understood our situation, he cross checked every registered experimental trial, and the mutation we have is not only unregistered, it doesn't seem to be targeting a known genetic disorder."

Hotch cut in for the first time, his voice muffled as if he was shielding the phone and his mouth with a hand to prevent anyone nearby from overhearing. "In plain English, are we talking about germ warfare or terrorism here?"

"The good news," Garcia answered with a bright smile that also shaped the tone of her voice, "is that we don't think so. The better news, is that once Dr. Lu understood the problem with the sample, he was able to generate pre- and post- treatment DNA markers to compare to every database he can access, which includes some foreign, military, and treatment study samples I'd face significant delays in reaching. The bad news is, we'll probably end up with someone from the CDC or some other batch of the alphabet soup joining this investigation soon."

Ellison let out a groan, which everyone else understood and sympathized with.

"Keep me posted, Garcia," Hotch said. "Reid, prepare an update to explain this and your latest take on rituals to the team when we get back."

With that, Hotch and Garcia signed off. Spencer was left sipping his tea. It mostly tasted of honey, with only a hint of unidentified plants. If nothing else, he found the warmth soothing. He let his eyes drift closed even as Sandburg began talking.

"You think the gene therapy is motivating the ritual you've been studying?" His voice seemed to echo slightly.

Spencer answered without opening his eyes. "It's hard to know without tying the treatment to a specific underlying disorder, but Jonathon seemed to quote the unsub when saying, 'We won't have to be alone. There will be many minds like ours.' The first successful gene therapy practiced on humans was used in 1990 to treat a severe immunodeficiency case that would have prevented the child from normal interactions with others. If our unsub was isolated as a child, due to a genetic disorder, and then cured by having new DNA added to his body, he might see DNA, as in semen, as the key to escaping isolation. The part about 'many minds like ours' may be more abstract, as if the victims' minds might become more like his through a second exposure to DNA later in life. The age of the targets may not be solely opportunistic if it represents a milestone in the unsub's life. Our profile says he's in his mid twenties at the youngest now, so it's unlikely he received gene therapy around age five that we can't easily identify now. Perhaps he was first diagnosed with his genetic condition at that age?"

"Sounds pretty convoluted to me," Ellison said.

"But it's good to know our doctor with no degrees in life sciences can explain implications of gene therapy with his eyes closed," Wolfe added. "My work here is done. I should return to my regular duties."

"Thanks for everything," Sandburg said. After the door opened and closed he asked softly, "How's your head?"

"Good enough." Spencer sighed, knowing he'd worked through migraines before without giving much away. "I should add the new data to the board before everyone returns."

"Want help?" Sandburg offered.

"Probably not the kind you mean," Spencer said. He hadn't thought he'd find a way to broach the subject, but with his eyes closed and a hot mug of Sandburg's tea in his hands, it suddenly seemed possible. "I want to know what makes someone a Guide."

Without missing a beat Sandburg said, "You mean like when I offered to be your local guide to the coffee shop this morning?"

"No," Spencer kept his eyes shut trying not to sense or imagine the tension radiating from the other two men in the room. "I mean a Guide for a Sentinel, and from your other writing, I think you might see a link to the Spirit Guides or Shamans you've studied in South America, especially Peru."

"Aw, man, I don't know how you even found that, but the only thing I ever wrote about Sentinels was some experimental fiction I did in college."

Spencer cracked an eye open and confirmed that Ellison looked as blank faced and Sandburg as mock casual as he'd expected. Then he closed that eye again and enjoyed the darkness. "Look, I'm not asking as a Fed and I don't think it effects the case, since no one else is asking how you spotted that partial boot print and some dog fur where Jonathon was abducted or how you seem to have heard what the unsub said when he dropped him off—even though you were parked half a block away. But sometimes I notice gaps in my understanding that seem significant to me. Right now, I think I understand the basics about Sentinels. And I don't know if it even makes sense to ask, but there's a hole in my mental map that can only be filled if I understand the basics about Guides." He stopped as he felt the intensity of Sandburg's focus in that moment. He didn't risk mentioning the way Sandburg's proximity seemed to help Ellison remain calm and focused or the way Louis and the ME had both reacted as if Sandberg and Spencer had something rare and invisible in common.

If he opened his eyes, Spencer thought he'd be able to read the silent communication between the two men, Sentinel and Guide. He kept his eyes closed and focused on his tea. A light furry face, sharp like a weasel or a ferret, seemed to peak at him from the corners of his vision. His eyes darted toward it, even though they were closed, but it slipped away each time.

"What are you seeing?" Sandburg asked. "Your eyes are visibly moving beneath your eyelids."

Spencer wasn't sure if Sandburg was deflecting or testing him in some way, but he answered only a little defensively, "Looks like a ferret, but I know it's just my eyes playing tricks on me in the build up to a migraine." He wasn't going to think about other visions he'd seen during migraines. If he let himself think they might be hallucinations, he'd push himself over the edge with worry.

"There are those who believe that certain people, who might be called Guides or Shamans in various stories, have a special connection to the spirit plane. They might have different ways of knowing things, might envision spirit animals that would help them interact with that plane of existence. Maybe Guides would have a special sort of empathy or insight that would lead them to help others, such a person might be drawn to help a Sentinel, if such things existed."

Despite Sandburg's speculative tone, Spencer appreciated the other man's willingness to discuss what must seem a very personal topic. It was hard for Spencer to approach ideas like spirit animals or a spirit plane, even though he'd read many cross-cultural interpretations and seen documentation of mental and physical feats accomplished by use of trance states or what some called spirit walks. Knowing his time was limited before his team came back, Spencer asked, "What would make someone a Guide?"

"Dan Wolfe and a Shaman I once met would probably call it destiny." Sandburg's voice cut off in a way that forced Spencer to open his eyes. Ellison's attention was focused on the door or beyond, but Sandburg stared at Spencer as if he could see inside his head. "These days, we might be able to speculate on a genetic basis if that makes everyone more comfortable." His eyes darted toward Ellison and then back to meet Spencer's. "Maybe what makes someone a Guide is being open to any explanation that fits and helping others to see what they need to see."

There was a long silence before Ellison said, "We should gather our notes and let Dr. Reid set up his explanations and whiteboards. I think the others will be back very soon."

With a nod and one last searching look, Sandburg left the room with his partner, his Sentinel if Spencer trusted his own observations and reasoning.

Spencer stood up to connect a few more notes on rituals and jot down their current DNA conclusions. His head still hurt, but he thought he'd avoid an actual migraine this time. While being inside and taking a large dose of ibuprofen early might have helped, Spencer made a mental note to ask Sandburg about that tea before he left.

#

The next morning in the hotel room he shared with Morgan, Spencer woke to the sound of both their cell phones ringing simultaneously. His heart raced with panic first.

There shouldn't be another abduction until Friday. Any break in the pattern could signal escalation and make murder a much more likely outcome.

It was a relief to pick up and hear Hotch say, "I have an Air Force General in my room who wants to speak with me and Reid right away. Reid, get dressed and get over here. Morgan, you're on this call because Rossi will be coming to your room as soon as Reid is over here. Otherwise, they don't want any of us to leave our rooms until we're briefed, understood?"

"I'll be there in a minute." His phone read six a.m. local time. Spencer hurried into the bathroom while his brain struggled to make sense of the situation without coffee. By the time he was presentable and hurrying down the hotel hallway, his mind was full of questions.

The sight that greeted him in Hotch's room only multiplied the questions and his need for coffee. Rossi left as he entered. Hotch, fully dressed in a suit, sat on the hotel bed to the right. A General in full uniform and a protective mask just short of a gas mask sat to the left in one of the room's two guest chairs. There were two other strangers in the room, both also wearing full face medical-style masks that covered mouth, nose, and eyes. Both were dressed in civilian clothes, slacks and sweaters that would not have been out of place in academia. The younger, lighter haired man sat in the second guest chair, reading off a tablet and barely glancing up at Spencer's entrance. A man with dark hair, who mostly had his back to Spencer, seemed to be setting up extensive medical equipment and electronics on a table in the far right corner of the room.

Hotch motioned Spencer to sit on Rossi's hastily made bed as he said, "This it Dr. Spencer Reid."

The General, a solid man with short grey hair, didn't rise from his slouched position in the chair. "I'm General Jack O'Neill. This is Dr. Daniel Jackson"—he waved toward the sandy haired man in the other chair—"and medical Dr. Carson Beckett."

The dark haired man working in the corner turned to wave and say in a distinctly Scottish accent, "Pleased to meet you."

Spencer nodded from his place on Rossi's bed, glad that he didn't have to worry about shaking hands and wondering why he and Hotch were meeting with these three men who were wearing what had to be biohazard masks.

The general leaned forward in his chair, "Look, I'm not a diplomat or one to beat around a dead bush. You're the only two members of your team with a security clearance high enough to hear what I need to tell you. You'll have to sign these massive NDA's"—he gestured toward two folders of papers, each an inch thick—"and then I'll tell you something that will blow you mind. You won't be able to tell the rest of your team, and you might have to lie to support a cover story if we need one. Otherwise, we could take over your investigation right here and now, but it's already been pointed out that we lack anyone with your skills sets. So, what will it be?"

"I won't support a lie about Hotch or me being dead if we're not," Spencer said.

"Okaaay, so noted." O'Neill seemed to take his demand in stride.

"I'd like to read the NDA," Spencer said.

O'Neill rolled his eyes in a most unmilitary way as Jackson brought a folder to him and handed the other to Hotch. As Spencer read through as fast as he could while having to turn pages, O'Neill said to Jackson, "No one can actually read that fast, can they?"

"His file says he can read 20,000 words a minute and has an eidetic memory," Jackson replied picking up his tablet and reclaiming his seat.

"A what memory? And since when do background checks even list stuff like that?"

"He's been a subject of interest since he won a large monetary prize at age twelve for proving the Beal conjecture in number theory. His current security clearance comes from work he did at eighteen while a student at Caltech. Did you even glance at their files?"

"That's what I have you for."

Even with most of his focus on reading, Spencer noticed that O'Neill and Jackson sounded every bit as much like a married couple as Sandburg and Ellison did.

After a few minutes Spencer closed the folder and said, "I'll sign."

"I'm assuming they're identical?" Hotch asked the general who replied with a nod. "Anything I should be aware of?" he asked Spencer next.

"The language refers to, 'materials or information terrestrial or extra-terrestrial.' That could be standard language for something where NASA is involved, but I've never seen it before."

Jackson looked up from his tablet and met Spencer's eyes for the first time. He didn't nod or smile, but his head tilted to the side for a moment before he looked back down at his work.

As soon as they'd both signed the papers in all the marked places, O'Neill said, "Long story short, the DNA sent in from your investigation matches a Marine Lieutenant Phillips who has worked off world in both this galaxy and one other during the last five years. Dr. Beckett is a genetics expert from Phillips' last posting who happened to be available to help us out. We need to start by taking samples from your team for reasons too geeky for me to explain."

Hotch's face froze in an expressionless mask that Spencer read as shock despite what Spencer had tried to point out about the NDA's they'd been given.

Spencer took the opportunity to ask, "Do you know if any worlds Phillips visited had rituals involving a hand placed flat on the chest like this"—he demonstrated on his own chest—"and smearing semen on the eyes, nose, and mouth of a young boy?"

O'Neill let out a huff that might resemble a laugh and said, "Gotta love working with geeks. You find out our military operates on other planets, in other galaxies even, and that's your first question?"

"The Drake Equation written in 1965 promoted widespread scientific discourse on the probability of extraterrestrial civilizations based on the number of anticipated stars, planets, habitable regions, viable communications systems, etcetera. If anything, alternatives for what might be habitable, possibilities for communication, and the very definition of life have only broadened over time, as has our estimate for the number of stars and planets out there. Any open minded individual should be prepared for the possibility, even probably, that other advanced lifeforms exist. You've just told me that our unsub worked in two different galaxies in the last five years, so it seems important to adjust our profile accordingly as soon as possible." Spencer waited for someone to reply.

"I don't suppose you can just give us an address for Lt. Phillips," Hotch asked before rubbing his forehead.

"No known address, but he flew into Seattle upon discharge three weeks ago, and we brought a current picture of him out of uniform." O'Neill handed the photo to Hotch.

Jackson said to Spencer, "I'm not familiar with any ritual that fits your description, and I'd be the most likely to have at least read about it. That said, I can send the description to scientists working in other regions and specialties within our program."

The doctor in the back of the room cleared his throat. "Could you show me the hand position one more time?"

Spencer did. Then he watched as Beckett and Jackson exchanged a worried look.

Finally Beckett said, "This might be farfetched. I sincerely hope it is. But we have been fighting a life form in the Pegasus Galaxy known as the Wraith. They feed off of humans through an orifice in their palms, holding their hands in exactly that position. There has recently been a retroviral pathogen spread among the Wraith that seemed to stop them from feeding in that way. An attempted 'cure' for that retrovirus seems to have killed off most of the Wraith, but to the best of our knowledge, none of those remaining have feeding orifices on their palms. I do not immediately see how the ritual you describe could be due to Lt. Phillips' experiences with the Wraith, but there are tests I can perform."

"We need a profile including PTSD or delusions based on contact with aliens. Are you sure we can't tell the rest of our team?" Hotch asked.

"Oh, for cryin' out loud, we might be able to get clearance to tell Agent Rossi or Agent Prentiss in a few days." The General waved his hands in almost comic frustration. "I was hoping you could help us track down Phillips and take him to a secure site much sooner than that, maybe by tonight? This really wasn't on my to do list for the week."

"Does that mean we're not being placed in quarantine?" Spencer asked.

"Let's hope not." The Scottish doctor said. "Come on over, lad."

Spencer walked to the far corner of the room and watched as the doctor waved what was clearly an alien scanner in front of him. "There, you've already passed as healthy on dozens of tests. Now, I'm going to need some blood, saliva, and nasal samples."

Spencer tried not to flinch as the doctor pulled on gloves and did what he needed to take samples. Just when Spencer thought he was done, the man reached out to hold his shoulder. "Son, I understand you were in contact with one of the boys while he still had foreign DNA on his face. While it is incredibly unlikely anything could have been transmitted to you in such circumstances, I've learned over the last few years to not make assumptions if I can help it. I'm going to need a semen sample from you, and the easiest option would be for you to go back to your hotel room and take care of that now. You can send your teammates over here for these other tests, and we'll keep them here as long as you need. There's instructions and a sample cup in this bag."

Spencer was struck with the shock he hadn't felt upon hearing about alien contact. Perhaps he should have seen it coming, but he'd never been asked for a semen sample in his life. "I'm not sure I'll be able to," he said, looking at the ground and not caring what it showed about him.

"Don't worry. You're not the first young man I've met who thought he couldn't manage in such circumstances. If it would help to borrow a laptop that's not monitored by your employers, I can lend you one and assure no one will check what you watch or even a video chat with someone you care about, so long as you promise not to reveal classified information or whatever your usual secrecy rules are around crime investigations."

Spencer couldn't help but smile a bit. "No, I don't think anything online would help. I'm just a very private person, and I don't think I can do this in a hotel room or hotel bathroom, knowing why we're testing and what's at stake for those little boys."

The doctor squeezed his shoulder, which didn't reassure Spencer the way it was probably meant to, but it did pull him out of his mental spiral. "Don't think about that. Go back to your room. Take a shower, relax, think about some unrelated fantasy or something from your past. Even if you need an hour or two, no one's going to question it. Just bring me back that sample as soon as you can once you're done. You can do this if you give yourself a chance."

Spencer took the bag and left Hotch's room without another word to anyone. He was sure his cheeks were flaming when he reached his own room and told Morgan and Rossi they needed to head down the hall for tests. Then he sat on his unmade bed from the night before and read instructions that basically told him to take a shower, clean off, and how to catch and seal the ejaculate in the sample cup without contamination.

The procedure was simple enough. The hard part was reigning in his own mind. During his time working for the BAU, it had become progressively harder for Spencer to masturbate at all. Unpleasant thoughts intruded whenever his attention slipped for even a moment. Sex with a partner was easier in that regard. Spencer had always had an intense focus on those he cared to touch, but he hadn't been with anyone in years. He didn't do casual, which might be why he'd never seen much appeal to porn. His eidetic memory didn't help, because the most intense part of sex, leading up to and including climax, was too chaotic and irrational for that sort of memory. Still, he remembered the Scottish doctor's assurance that he could do this. For the most part, Spencer trusted he could find a way to do whatever he needed to.

With that in mind he put out a "do not disturb" sign, locked and bolted the hotel room door, and moved a chair in front of it for good measure. Then he undressed and tried to think about something at least a little bit pleasant and arousing as he took his sample cup and went to start his shower.

#

_Ashok leaned his hip against the desk where Spencer was trying to work, but he didn't crumple any of the papers. He stretched his spine in a pleasing curve and said to the room at large, "Spencer is the most androgynous person I know."_

_Until that point, Spencer hadn't been following the seemingly pointless conversation in the basement computer lab at Caltech. He'd spent every waking hour for the last two weeks in this room, mostly with the same three people, and had felt little need to participate in any discussions that didn't involve math. He knew that androgynous meant having both male and female qualities and could be used in a physical sense, like the term hermaphroditic, but was more often used within a social or cultural context. He was not entirely sure what it meant at that moment coming from the partially drunk, openly gay co-worker leaning on his desk, who said it while reaching out to play with the curls at the back of Spencer's neck, but Spencer didn't feel inclined to disagree. Gender assumptions and expectations were among the many things that never made much sense to him._

_It was past midnight on New Year's Eve and everyone else from the Caltech Mathematics Sporadic Groups Project had been drinking. Spencer was the only one on the project who was under twenty-one, but that had little to do with why he wasn't indulging. If he had been, he wasn't sure how he'd have reacted to Ashok's fingers in his hair. Ashok was a total flirt, and Spencer was pretty sure that if he wanted to lose his guy on guy virginity to a one night stand with a co-worker, Ashok would be easy to persuade. It was tempting but probably not a good idea. Spencer thought Ashok knew that, even while inebriated. After a brief instinctive flinch, Spencer was able to enjoy the silky feeling of fingers lifting and separating sections of his hair and allowing it to fall back softly only for Ashok's fingertips to slide up his neck again._

_"Hey, I'm very androgynous," Cleo said. "I've got pretty clothes and curves to contrast with my mad math skills and undisguised ambition." She shook her voluptuous curves covered in pink parachute pants and an off the shoulder gray sweatshirt. Her hair was a short feathered cut that some similarly blond guy might also wear, at least as far as Spencer understood such things. He'd never thought of math or ambition as particularly male traits, but he thought Cleo did come off as tougher than him and would make just as much sense as a guy. Spencer had been told he was too soft spoken, hesitant, and bookish to be taken seriously in a man's world. He wondered why people thought he'd want to change himself to be respected in such a world. Caltech was a better place for him._

_"Sure," Ashok said, still stroking, "You're like more of both, but Spencer is, like, so in between."_

_"Stop talking like a valley girl," Gwen said as she spun round and round on an office chair across the room. "It's an embarrassment to the entire Mathematics"—spin—" Sporadic"—spin—" Groups"—spin—" Project." Gwen planted her feet firmly as she finished speaking, but her head continued to circle vaguely as she took several deep breaths._

_"Like totally, gag me with a spoon," Ashok deadpanned to Gwen before turning to Cleo, "What do people do for fun in this town anyway?"_

_"Ask Spencer. He's been here for three degrees already." Cleo poured herself another glass of cheap Champaign._

_"Three?" Ashok tugged a little on Spencer's hair._

_With a sigh, Spencer gave up on the samples of coded field notes he'd been comparing and wondered if he should go home before two in the morning for once. "I ended up double majoring in psychology and sociology for my bachelors and finishing math for my first PhD a year later."_

_"What?" Ashok asked, his hand now resting warmly on Spencer's neck._

_Ashok wasn't nearly as interesting to talk to when he'd been drinking, but he was the only person who currently touched Spencer in ways that felt positive, so Spencer was willing to extend the conversation. "I came here to major in math and physics, but there were a great number of other classes I wanted to take as well. It turned out that for many of the required math and physics courses it was more efficient to simply read the textbooks and challenge pre-reqs for higher level work. However, the class meetings for many of the undergraduate social studies courses offered me a great deal of insight, including the personal experiences of the professors and sometimes other students. Social sciences are mostly covered as independent studies majors at Caltech, so I was able to write my own curriculums around the classes I wanted to take and supplementary texts I chose to read. Meanwhile, I started discussing some unproven mathematical conjectures with Aschbacher that led to thesis work, and I ended up with a PhD rather than a bachelors in math. Same thing has pretty much happened with other professors and topics in engineering and chemistry, so depending on how each of those projects works out, I should finish up with another doctorate or two in the next few years."_

_"But I thought you were a post doc in math, like us," Gwen said._

_Spencer leaned back a little in his chair and felt his neck relaxing as Ashok soothingly stroked up and down. "No, not a post doc, except in the sense that this comes after my doctorate. Aschbacher recommended me. He said I should try my mind at another sort of puzzle and mentioned that with the grants behind monster groups and geometric applications, it paid better than most opportunities in math, or engineering or chemistry, at the moment. I was able to stay over winter break this year, so this is the first time I've ever been in Pasadena for New Year's Eve." Spencer swallowed, remembering the reason he didn't have to go home to Las Vegas this winter, which was also why he needed the extra money. He'd been doing fine on scholarships and a couple of math prizes in the past. But his mother's schizophrenia had grown worse over the years. She wouldn't listen to Amy, who Spencer had been paying under the table to stop by his mom's house twice a day since he'd left for college, and Amy was ready to break away from Las Vegas anyway. Once Spencer was eighteen, he'd had no choice but to sign papers to institutionalize his mother. He'd chosen the best care available, at Bennington, which didn't come cheap, and he still felt terribly guilty and wrote to her almost every day hoping she'd forgive him eventually. With a shake of his head that sent Ashok's hand away, Spencer thought of something to say that would shift the others' focus off of him. "Some people camp out overnight near the community college to see the Rose Parade go by in the morning. Close to a million people show up each year to see it, and all of the floats have to be covered completely in flower or plant materials."_

_"Awesome, let's go!" Cleo raised the bottle of Champagne._

_"Totally gnarly, dudette," Ashok said with a pointed glare at Gwen who covered her face in mock pain. Then he tugged on Spencer's sleeve, "Let's go."_

_"What?" Spencer's voice rose in a way he hated. "Not me. It's freezing out there."_

_"We'll swipe sleeping bags from the computer lab upstairs. Some of those trolls sleep under the desks at night, but they're mostly gone on vacation now." Chloe led the way out of the room, grabbing a grocery bag full of chips and candy as she went._

_Spencer sputtered as Ashok dragged him along, but he couldn't resist the warm hand on his arm. Gwen stayed behind in her rolling chair and gave a queenly wave as she mouthed the word "Sucker!" at Spencer._

_The next morning Spencer woke to a police officer saying, "Wake the boy up. We can't have anything like that going on here, and he doesn't look old enough either."_

_Spencer did not wake well without coffee. For a moment he couldn't place what was wrapped around him or why his hip was sore. Then all at once he realized he was in a sleeping bag on a literally rock hard sidewalk in Pasadena claiming a spot for the Rose Bowl Parade. Someone's warm hand was on his shoulder, had been since he woke up. It hadn't worried him then and didn't now, which meant—he heard Ashok behind him saying, "Spencer, wake up. This pig wants to harass us and is demanding to see your ID."_

_Spencer placed the voice and hand as belonging to Ashok, which was good. As soon as he'd registered trouble with police, he'd jerked to a sitting position, almost toppling over as the sleeping bag tangled around him. Ashok's hand steadied him and gave Spencer the moment he needed to realize he didn't have to panic about problems leading back to his mother anymore. Not that he wanted police attention, but it no longer threatened his freedom or his mother's or any of the secrets he'd kept about his monetary and parental situations for so long. A constant tension he hadn't realized he carried left his body in that moment._

_"Sorry, um," Spencer squinted up at the officer through indirect morning sunlight. He was glad they'd chosen the side of the street with a mountain view as it also meant the sun wasn't shining directly in his eyes. "What seems to be the problem, officer?"_

_The cop jerked his hand toward Ashok. "This man had his hand in your sleeping bag and you don't look old enough to be out here without your parents, let alone with the likes of him. Show me some ID, son."_

_Spencer reached down into the sleeping bag. He'd removed his wallet from his pants pocket to sleep, so it took a little searching around by his feet to find it._

_Behind him Ashok was saying, "I was just keeping him warm. We're both fully clothed and in separate sleeping bags for Christ's sake."_

_"No call for swearing. We don't need your kind here."_

_"My kind?" Ashok sputtered._

_"Now, officer." Spencer identified the voice as Cleo's sweetly flirtatious drawl as he finally found his wallet by touch, "As an all American female," the words "white" and "heterosexual" seemed to go unspoken, "I assure you these boys came with me so I could watch this big parade. Spencer there, he's just skin and bones as you can see. If Ashok put an arm around him, it was just to keep him from shivering and to let him sleep a little longer. They're both dear friends of mine, and I can vouch for their good intentions."_

_Spencer was impressed by Cleo's dramatic performance even as he finally pulled out both his brand new driver's license and his Caltech ID card to hand over to the cop._

_"Humph," the officer said, glancing between Spencer and the two photo IDs. "Well, be mindful of the company you keep, young man." He handed the cards back and said mostly to Cleo, "You enjoy the parade now."_

_Ashok looked pissed at the man's attitude, with good reason, but Spencer just shook his head and opened his eyes wide. He wasn't above using the few social tricks he knew to avoid further trouble for all of them. For some reason, that look seemed to work when people friendly to him had to make a quick decision about whether to go along with his requests or not._

_"That man is a disappointment to all my California Dreamin'," Cleo said softly, "but I will not let him rain on our parade. You two promise to stay out of trouble with the law, and I will go buy us all some coffee."_

_"You don't need to—" Ashok began to object._

_"No, no, no," Cleo waved him down, "Tough girl that I may be, I'd gladly buy some coffee to earn my way into that coffee shop's bathroom. If either of you object to using the porta-potties, you may buy the next round."_

_As she walked proudly away, Ashok whispered to Spencer, "If I could get it up for any girl, I would totally take her before any other female."_

_Spencer felt his face warm in a blush, even as he privately agreed that Cleo was a fine example of a woman._

_Ashok may have misinterpreted his blush as he whispered next, "You know I wasn't doing anything but wrapping an arm around your shoulders while you slept, right?"_

_"I have no such worries about you, never have." Spencer saw his friend wasn't completely convinced, so he shared a little of what he'd been reading, "I read a fascinating book by a criminal profiler named David Rossi that listed characteristics of sexual offenders including low impulse control, which doesn't exactly mesh with the in depth math work I've seen you do, sexual incapacity or frustration—" Ashok opened his mouth to protest, but Spencer smiled and talked right over his objections, "I'm pretty sure we could find dozens of your past partners to contradict any such motives. What's more, there'd be no reason to make such an attempt in a public, well lit area, in the morning, with a colleague from work present, and when no one is intoxicated or in a heightened emotional state."_

_Ashok smiled and met Spencer's eyes for longer than usual. "I'm glad you have no worries about me, Spencer, but with that sort of reasoning, I'm a little concerned—if you think such things rule out anyone who might grope a good looking guy like you given the chance."_

_Spencer couldn't help but smile when Ashok, a total catch and Casanova, called him good looking._

_"Oh God, don't smile at me that way." Ashok stared at Spencer's lips as he said it. "You must beat both men and women off with sticks."_

_A few feet away, an older woman dressed in layers of winter clothes that puffed her up like a snowman gave them a speculative look. Spencer was too caught up in his own emotions to tell if she disapproved or was checking his smile to test the truth of the assertion, but he kept his answer quiet, just in case. "First, the undergrads here are known for being accepting of everyone's personal choices, but also, I was underage until a few months ago. Nobody wants to borrow that kind of trouble, and I had especially good reason to avoid it. Second, while I never cared whether someone was male or female, you're pretty much the first guy to show any interest. While I don't think I'd like being another notch on your bedpost, I like the way you treat me and even the way you touch me. So please don't balk at my age or inexperience or whatever, okay?"_

_"Balk? I'm totally flattered. So how serious would I have to be to get past this notch on the bedpost accusation?" Ashok had his head tilted such that his eyes looked half closed and his eyelashes stood out against his cheeks. Spencer didn't know if it was intentional or part of Ashok's general expressiveness, but somehow, everything felt real and mutual for once._

_Spencer's mouth fell open. He'd been told he was bad at reading social situations, but it sounded like Ashok was expressing more than casual interest in seducing him. Sitting on the cold concrete in an appropriated sleeping bag before ingesting any coffee, Spencer didn't think he could trust himself to answer._

_Luckily, Cleo came back at that moment. She handed Ashok his cup and then sat close on the other side of Spencer before filling his hands with a warm cup of a delightfully sweet smelling mochaccino. As he took his first sip she said, "What did I miss?"_

#

Spencer was clean and his cock was a little interested by the time he remembered the sample cup and the situation that brought him to this hotel room shower. Letting the warm water flow over his chest, he tried to think back to the first night he and Ashok slept together without clothes or sleeping bags. He remembered how much more skilled Ashok had been than the couple of girls Spencer had dated before. Ashok taught Spencer that touch on almost any patch of skin could be arousing when Ashok touched him with intent.

He remembered Ashok kissing and licking his nipples the first time he used fingers to open him up. The memory was a vague jumble of shock and pleasure, not at all like Spencer's usually focused and orderly recollections.

Spencer rubbed his own nipples as he stroked himself in the shower. He tried to remember Ashok's touches and kisses, but there was a sense of melancholy that overshadowed that forced remembering. Adjusting both his grip and his mind, Spencer set himself to imagining a future partner, someone with enough experience to touch him the way Ashok had but who would want the darker, more reticent man he'd grown up to be. He imagined himself exploring a lover's body the way Ashok had explored his. Spencer's playful side wanted to find ticklish spots and patches of silky smooth skin that could drive his lover mad even as Spencer was drawn to touch them again and again. As he quickened the motion of his hand on his cock and added a twist at the tip, Spencer turned off the shower and reached past the curtain for the sample cup.

He leaned his forehead against warm tile and imagined loose curls tickling his cheeks and nose. He breathed in deep, imagining the warm earthy smell of a sweaty lover's hair, and he managed to come in the cup and milk out a couple of extra spurts.

It wasn't the best orgasm of his life, but it was probably the proudest Spencer had ever been of himself for managing to get off. And he rather liked the future lover he'd conjured in his mind, someone he could pleasure and enjoy as an equal, someone whose skin and smell he could cherish and lose himself in.

He opened the shower curtain, properly sealed the sample cup, and gave himself one more quick rinse in warm water.

#

By lunch their team had medical clearance and O'Neill, Jackson, and Beckett had stopped wearing the freakish bio-hazard masks. Spencer didn't know how they processed everything so quickly, but he wanted to believe it involved transporters and alien medical technology.

As they regrouped in the conference room by major crimes, Sandburg plowed in with a large canvas bag full of food, already talking a mile a minute. "Where did you find Penelope? That woman is awesome. She called in an order to the sandwich place near our loft, not only ordering for all of you but with our favorites, too. She said the Bureau would cover the bill as part of her research expenses and asked us to pick them up as soon as we were let out of quarantine."

JJ clicked a link to bring a blue and gold draped Garcia into the meeting as Morgan sputtered, "You guys weren't allowed out until now either? Shoot, we lost a whole morning."

"Not at all, my sweet sugar bear. Just sit down and eat while I tell you how the great gourmand Garcia cracked this case wide open."

Ellison was already tossing out wrapped sandwiches that someone, presumable at the shop, had labeled in Sharpie with each of their names. Spencer received pastrami with mayonnaise, not mustard, which was all it took to make him happy.

Garcia's bright voice while they ate was better than most dinner conversation. "It turns out that while Lt. Phillips may not have accessed his bank account or used any credit cards since he left the Marines, he did sign up for food deliveries from a local non-profit that helps out returning veterans, newly released convicts, and those transitioning from foster care and other systems. The Welcome Network has been dropping off hot meals for him three nights a week: Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday at 1547 Jefferson St."

"Sweet mama," Morgan said, "Tell me you've already checked out that address."

"You know me, hot stuff, I'm all about checking it out. Looks like our Marine stumbled into a sweet little 1950s single family home, no renovations in the past twenty years. The house was recently inherited by a Lt. McMillan, also listed as recently serving in Colorado Springs with Phillips, though there seem to be a suspiciously large number of troops assigned to that base from all branches of the military."

"Garcia," Hotch cut in, "I think you should know we have General O'Neill in the room. He's been very helpful and identified Lt. Phillips for us."

"Oops, sorry, sir. I would have ordered you a sandwich if I'd known."

O'Neill scowled at the screen for a moment then raised a sandwich in his hand, "Agent Prentiss was kind enough to share hers. Good choice of sandwich shops."

"Thank you, sir!" Garcia smiled and said, "They had plenty of excellent reviews on Yelp and Sandburg and Ellison maintain running accounts there."

JJ asked, "Do you know what time the Welcome Network delivers food on Sundays?"

"All deliveries are between four and six. I'm sending you complete information including the address for their kitchen and staging area in downtown Cascade where they should be preparing dinner now."

"Reid and I will visit the Welcome Network," Hotch said without losing any time. "Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss, I want you to work with Ellison and Sandburg to scope out the best staging for an operation involving that house. This unsub hasn't killed anyone and may not be armed, but is probably delusional. We want to try a soft approach first, but we'll need the place surrounded and the street clear. If Phillips is expecting a food delivery tonight, that may be our best way in. JJ, take a picture of the house and check in with Morales to see if she can run it by one or more of the boys while you watch for any reaction. Information on if or where they were held inside would be ideal, but watch eye tracking for signs of subconscious recognition."

#

Five o'clock found Spencer wearing a bulletproof vest under a Welcome Network windbreaker and carrying a sealed tray of food. Hotch had decided that Spencer looked the least threatening and the most like other volunteers who'd brought the Marine food over the last three weeks. Spencer had been coached on the usual script and on offering to bring food inside. Other volunteers agreed that Phillips usually accepted his tray at the door, but Spencer had a spiel prepared to stall Phillips in the doorway while Hotch and O'Neill came in the back, ready to subdue and restrain Phillips if necessary.

Spencer tried to act casual, feeling a dozen hidden eyes watching as he walked up to the little white house and knocked on the unsub's solid front door.

"Who is it?" a deep voice called out.

"Paul from the Welcome Network. I brought you Sunday dinner." Spencer heard the bolt slide and the door unlock before it opened. The man on the other side in jeans and a tee shirt was as expected, a few inches taller and about twice as massive as Spencer. The living room looked unchanged since McMillan's grandmother passed away, with floral wall paper and spindly old furniture. "Would you like me to bring this into the dining table for you?"

Lt. Phillips looked Spencer up and down, a not completely unusual reaction, but Spencer didn't expect it from a man who preyed on five-year-olds. He had a speech prepared to ask Phillips if he'd like to volunteer with a fictitious youth program, but before he could start, Phillips yanked the tray from his hands and threw it across the room.

"Why did you come here?" he asked, and he pulled Spencer inside and slammed the door. He had a knife in his left hand.

Spencer tried to dodge behind a frilly blue couch, but Phillips grabbed his shirt and yanked him so Spencer's back was to Phillips' chest and Phillips' back was to the closed door. The knife pressed against Spencer's throat.

"Freeze, FBI," Hotch called out, entering the room with his gun in hand. "We just want to talk to you, but you have to put the knife down and let him go."

O'Neill stepped through next, also pointing a gun, "Lt. Phillips, I'm ordering you to let that civilian go right now. Then we'll get you the help you need."

Phillips kept Spencer's body between himself and the guns and said, "I need him." His hand spread open, palm over Spencer's heart, in a now familiar position. "You can't help me."

"It's okay," Spencer said. "Lt. Phillips won't hurt me." Spencer hoped he was right as he put together all the clues he had about Phillips' ritual. "He just doesn't want to be alone. Isn't that right, Phillips?"

"What are you?" Phillips asked. "I hadn't found anyone else like me here."

"Is that why you took the boys?" Spencer asked, "You wanted to make them like you?"

"I didn't want to. I had to. My mind seeks out others. And there's something in my mind driving me to..." The Marine's hips thrust slightly behind him, and Spencer wondered if the men watching caught the movement. "I try to turn it off. I can push it back for a while, but not if you come here. I can feel you with my mind, but you're not really like us, are you? Can you even feel my mind?"

Phillips' voice rose and Spencer heard it echoing in his head like when he had a migraine. But his head wasn't hurting right now. "I think I feel it a little. Maybe it takes time. Do you know what changed you? Did it happen all at once? Was there a ritual? Put down the knife, and we can sort this out."

"No!" Phillips shook Spencer and the knife cut into his throat.

He heard O'Neill shout, "Trust me."

Then Spencer was hit by a flash of bright blue light and a wave of pain.

#


	2. Chapter 2

The next thing Spencer knew he was flat on his back on the floor. His arms and legs were numb but awakening to the pain of a thousand pins and needles.

Based on his throbbing head and the memory of bright light before he passed out, Spencer expected opening his eyes to hurt with a migraine reaction to light. But he could hear handcuffs clicking beside him and O'Neill whispering into a phone for pick up. He opened his eyes without pain, and Hotch immediately leaned forward to fill his field of view. "O'Neill used some alien stun gun. Cover story is Phillips was electrocuted knocking out the light, and the charge passed through hand and knife to you. They want you to refuse medical treatment here and insist on accompanying them when they take Phillips. I'll clear it so you can bring back any non-classified details for the families here. Understood?"

"Got it," was all Spencer managed to say. It was hard to judge his own cognitive recovery when Phillips' comments about feeling people's minds ran alongside the apparent reality that he'd been shot with an alien stun gun.

Hotch was gone for a minute. Spencer couldn't move yet but the stinging pain in his limbs was fading. Then Morgan was leaning over him, "Ambulance is on its way. How you doing, pretty boy?"

"I'm fine," Spencer tried to push himself up. "What's going on with Phillips?"

Morgan leant an arm to help him sit. "Military wants him first. Something about classified information coming out in delusions."

"I'm going with him."

"Reid, no, you need to be checked." Honest concern radiated from Morgan, and Spencer didn't mind the arm helping him sit at all.

"They can check me wherever he's going."

"I've already approved it," Hotch chimed in from where he was waving someone in at the door.

Jackson and Beckett entered the house. Beckett immediately went to kneel by Lt. Phillips who seemed to be just regaining consciousness.

"All set to take him in the van," Jackson reported to O'Neill. His posture and tone seemed military in that moment, and Spencer realized he'd never been told what the man's doctorate was in or why he'd accompanied the General and the genetics specialist to Cascade.

"Dr. Reid is coming with us."

"All the way?" Jackson's forehead wrinkled over the bridge of his glasses.

"He's cleared for it. Give him a hand out to the van. He's recovering from an electric shock." The General's elbow tapped against his jacket, and Jackson nodded in instant understanding.

"Guess you're coming with us." Jackson bent and slid an arm under Spencer's shoulder to haul him up. Luckily, Spencer was recovered enough to get his feet under him. He didn't like the unfamiliar touch replacing Morgan's but at the moment he needed the support.

Morgan looked mutinous as he grabbed Spencer's free elbow.

"I'll be fine." Spencer tried not to show how much he was leaning on Jackson. The guy was built under his button up shirt and collegial jacket.

Spencer wasn't surprised when Jackson drove the van to a nearby military base parking lot. He was surprised when Jackson helped him walk only as far as the back of the van before he was engulfed by a flash of bright light for the second time that day.

Then Spencer was standing, with Jackson holding his arm, on what appeared to be an actual spaceship. The others stood around Phillips and his gurney. They faced a view of the Earth and stars through a triangular window with smaller windows to the sides between spars that branched out from a cog shape on the floor. There was no way that knowledge of the Drake Equation or some talk of military assignments in the Pegasus Galaxy had prepared Spencer for being beamed up to an actual spaceship.

For a moment he just stared.

Then he paid close attention as he scanned the room, hoping to make the most of his eidetic memory. Who knew if he'd ever see something as amazing as this again? The large computer consoles to each side of the window meant little to him, but as he turned his head he saw three seats on a raised platform, two with large computer consoles in front of them and one in the center with a clear view around the room. He presumed that was the captain's chair, currently occupied by a woman with short blond hair. He'd also bet the ship was built by Earthlings who'd grown up watching the same science fiction shows he had. At least they'd learned from the better ones. Behind the seats were intersecting yellow and orange planes of glass etched with a grid pattern that suggested some sort of map. If he'd been ready to walk completely under his own power, he probably would have stepped toward the glass maps in that instant.

"Beam us back down to Stargate Command infirmary," he heard O'Neill say beside him. Since they were orbiting Earth, Spencer guessed Stargate Command was planetside. His time in space wasn't going to last long.

"You don't want to give your guest a little longer to gawk?" a coolly amused woman's voice replied. Her tone as well as the chair she sat in suggested she was the captain, or at least in charge at the moment, but she also sounded very familiar with O'Neill.

"I know how you geeks are. Another minute and he'll wander off."

With another flash of light they arrived in a fairly standard medical space with gray walls, hospital beds, flimsy blue privacy curtains, and no windows. The sense of loss hit harder than the landing.

"Dr. Lam," O'Neill spoke as if they'd walked in the door rather than appearing in a flash of light, "Lt. Phillips needs a bed with restraints, possibly more than human strength until Dr. Beckett runs some tests. Also, I zatted him while he was holding a knife to Dr. Reid's throat, so someone should probably check Dr. Reid." O'Neill waved toward Spencer as Jackson dropped him off at a hospital bed. A female doctor with a slight build and heavy bangs much like Spencer's waved a very military looking nurse over to help him.

Spencer had completely forgotten the cut on his neck and thought he'd mostly recovered from the electric shock, or whatever being "zatted" actually entailed. It was a little hard to tell how much of his mental state might be the aftereffects of an alien weapon and how much was the shock of having his world turned upside down—and briefly left far beneath him. As a nurse assessed his neck wound, Dr. Beckett swung by and said, "Could you get me standard contagion samples, too—oral, nasal, and blood—just as a precaution. He tested clean earlier, although it wouldn't hurt to check for contaminants in that knife wound. Oh, and he's ATA positive if that matters to any equipment you use."

With that the doctor rushed over to the now restrained Lt. Phillips.

"What's ATA?" Spencer asked, but the nurse just shook his head and didn't answer.

Beckett was sorting through files on a computer across the room and muttering about how they could have "missed this on Atlantis." That set off a million more questions in Spencer's head.

Jackson returned and slid in beside the nurse who was disinfecting Spencer's neck wound, offering a pleasant distraction from the usual medical touching. "ATA stands for Ancient Technology Activation gene. Some of the aliens who visited Earth in the past left a genetic contribution, and you won the lottery."

"You're saying I'm part alien?" The nurse glared at Spencer as if warning him not to talk or move his neck again, no matter what he might hear about aliens or his own genetics.

"Several thousand years back, we all are. But being ATA positive makes you useful for operating some technologies the Ancients left behind, especially in the Pegasus Galaxy. Natural carriers are usually better at it, and with your background, you're probably a top pick as a recruit. So the question is, do you want to take a job in another galaxy?"

Spencer waited until the nurse gave him a nod and moved to take a blood sample. "Can you confirm we're not in another galaxy now?"

Jackson smiled. "Our transporters can't send us that far. We took a quick trip up to a spaceship and back down to a domestic U.S. military base."

"Colorado Springs?"

Jackson looked around the nondescript infirmary. "Is that some profiling trick?"

"Our technical analyst mentioned Lt. Phillips had officially been stationed in Colorado Springs with a surprisingly large number of people from different branches of the military. Given that we were beamed into this infirmary, I'm guessing those numbers include people serving on other planets and spaceships."

"You should probably warn him—"

"Her."

"—Her not to dig too much deeper on that."

"I'll do that as soon as they let me phone home."

O'Neill stepped alongside Jackson as the nurse sidled away with a tray full of Spencer's samples. "Are you warning him off or trying to recruit him? Because it sounds like Dr. Beckett is calling dibs."

"I'd hire him, but I'm willing to give Atlantis a chance first." Spencer's mind rewound to Beckett's muttered comment about "on Atlantis" and concluded it was either a military base or a planet designation for wherever Beckett and Phillips had worked in the Pegasus Galaxy. He wondered if the stop in orbit had truly been necessary to deliver them to this infirmary in Colorado Springs or if someone thought that little teaser was a good way to recruit Spencer.

"Yeah, I heard the ATA comment," O'Neill said, "and Beckett reminded me that they'd asked for a police detective some time ago."

"I think you read me that requisition," Jackson said. Spencer wondered again exactly what the man's job was. "Sheppard asked for 'someone to find missing things and mediate disputes so Teyla isn't so busy' and Lorne wrote that up as 'consulting detective.'"

O'Neill crossed his arms, and for the first time, looked tired. "That was probably for a different issue, but Beckett thinks Phillips' problem might relate to genetics stuff back there. What do you think, Dr. Reid? Beckett wants to take your unsub back with him tonight, something about advanced scanners and stasis pods. Wanna run away to Atlantis?"

Spencer's mind lit up again at the words "advanced scanners and stasis pods" and reminded him of his earlier hopes, now realized, for transporters as well. Even if they'd shown him the transporter technology and spaceship deliberately, it would be hard to turn away from such an offer. For a moment, Spencer worried that he could be dreaming or caught in a psychotic break, but in either of those cases it wouldn't hurt to play along. If he was honest with himself, he'd been considering changing jobs ever since Emily's supposed death, and possibly even more after she came back. He wasn't likely to find a better offer. "What exactly is Atlantis?"

Jackson answered instantly, speaking fast, "Atlantis is an Ancient city-ship, about the size of Manhattan, that can travel through space and then settle down to float on a planet's ocean. It's also what we call the international military and civilian expedition we sent there eight years ago. They flew it back to Earth a couple years ago when we were under attack, but it was hard to keep it hidden, even with cloaking technology. Now they're back in the Pegasus Galaxy. It takes 18 days to send a ship there with our usual power sources, but with the Stargates the Ancients left, which can use zero point energy to open a wormhole between any two gates, we can send people to Atlantis almost instantly."

"Aaaand," O'Neill said slowly, "You’re going to sign a few more nondisclosures whether or not you take the job."

Jackson rubbed the bridge of his nose, not looking at all apologetic.

The direct, free flow of information was something Spencer appreciated and rarely received. "A wise man once said that the best way to find out where you come from is to find out where you're going and then work backwards."

"Is that a yes?" O'Neill asked.

"Shouldn't I see a job offer and more information on where I'm going before I actually agree to both a career change and major relocation? Also, I'd need to at least talk to Garcia, or she'll take technology into her own hands thinking you've kidnapped me or something."

"Beckett wants to leave in two hours," O'Neill said.

"I read fast. But does it really have to be tonight? I need to report back to my team, resign my job, pack up my apartment."

O'Neill made impatient talking motions with one hand as he used the other to pick up a small medical instrument with red and white lights.

"The transport energy is still a challenge to produce," Jackson said. "Barring emergencies, we won't be opening another wormhole or sending a ship out for at least a month."

O'Neill had started fiddling with the red and white light device, but Dr. Lam passed by and silently plucked it right out of his hands. The general straightened up a bit. "Look, the job offer might still be open in a month, but Beckett wants you to start investigating what happened to Phillips, and he's pretty sure it happened there. I can send some men to pack up clothes and personal effects from your apartment. You live alone, right?"

Spencer pictured Marines beaming into his apartment and going through his stuff. He wondered how much power it must take to "open a wormhole" with an "Ancient Stargate" when they seemed to use transporter technology so readily to move people around on Earth. "Any chance I could go and do the packing myself?"

Jackson smiled. "You'll use up all your reading time, and you can't let anyone see you there. It's too easy to document when you officially left Cascade."

Tucking his hands into his pockets Spencer said, "I think you both know I'll say yes to any reasonable offer, once I read through it, but I'd really like to pack for myself. How much can I bring and how long will I be gone?"

"Walter!" O'Neill bellowed.

A small bald man with glasses hurried into the infirmary before O'Neill had finished calling his name. Spencer wondered if transporter technology was somehow involved in that too, as the man handed over a file folder and an electronic device much like the tablet Garcia kept encouraging him to use.

The new person, presumably Walter, said, "Standard contract is two years. Back for vacation after one year. Contract terms and background information about Atlantis is on the tablet. All the papers you need to sign before you go are in the folder. I'll set up a video call with your old team for just before you leave. We can beam you into your apartment with a cubic meter shipping container on a motorized cart, but trust me, you don't have time to load it yourself without help. And we'd have to inspect it anyway. Save us all some time by putting any weapons or hazardous materials on top and taking along a couple of inventory assistants to help out."

#

Almost two hours later, Spencer found himself back in Colorado Springs in a small gray communications room where Walter had set him up on Facetime with Penelope Garcia.

"My bestest brainiac!" she greeted him, still dressed in blue and gold and looking as enthusiastic as ever.

"Hey, Garcia, I'm going to need a couple of favors. Is the team headed back on the jet already?"

"Just took off, you want me to patch you through?"

"In a minute. First, you're probably the one who's going to be most surprised, but don't be upset, because I promise you this is something really, really good."

"You're worrying me, sweet thing. What happened?" Her blue and gold earrings bobbed as she tilted her head, and Spencer realized it had only been a few hours since she'd ordered sandwiches and located Lt. Phillips for them.

"I'm taking a job as a consulting detective with the military—"

"Did they let you pick your own job title?" For some reason, that brought the smile back to Penelope's face.

"What? No, why?"

"It's a _Sherlock_ reference. Someone there has a sense of humor. You're sure this is all legit?"

"I've read and signed over a hundred pages of military legalese today. Anyway, they didn't catch my Dr. Who quote, so it's good to know they have someone with fannish credentials. You're not mad?"

"Wait, is this like a job-job or are they just borrowing you for a bit?"

"Two years, and I'm mostly going to be out of contact. That's why I need to ask two favors from you."

"Two years!" Garcia started wringing her hands on a Koosh duckling. "You can't break up with us like this on Facetime. I know you were upset yesterday when you called, and I still can't believe Hotch and JJ lied to us, but we're a team, we can make it better."

"I know, and it's not just that. I wish I could tell you more, but I only have a few minutes, and most of it's classified anyway. But that's one of the favors I need from you. I want you to promise not to try digging up information on what I'm doing or where I've gone. I promise I'll send messages to you whenever and however I can, but you'll only cause both of us grief if you try sneaking into the systems involved."

"That sooooo doesn't sound good. And what about your mother?"

"That's the second favor. You already have at least a couple months worth of extra letters I wrote for her. I need you to mail them every couple days just like you do when the team is gone for a while. As soon as I can I'll send you another stack, along with something for you and the team. But it might be a month or two in between. Will you take care of this for me, even if I'm not working at the BAU anymore?"

"Oh, Spencer-baby, you're like family to me. Of course I'll take care of correspondence with your mother. But don't make me go a month without hearing from you if I don't have to."

"I'll try to figure out some email or something for you, but you may have to be patient with me, especially at first."

She shook her head and stared at him. "I never could say no to you, brilliant boy. Promise me you know what you're getting into and really, really think it will make you happy?"

"I know as much as I can, and a wise man once said that the best way to find out where you come from is to find out where you're going and then work backwards."

"Is that the Dr. Who quote you tried that none of them got? Do you need me to pack up all you Dr. Who DVDs and send them?"

Spencer smiled. He had in fact packed all his DVDs to bring along. "They've got someone taking care of packing for me. I only have a couple minutes left, so I guess you better patch me through to the jet."

"There comes a time when even I have to share," she intoned solemnly to her Koosh duck. Facing Spencer again she said, "Don't forget I'm always here for you, whatever happens with the rest of them."

"You are the best. Thank you."

Then he heard her explaining to the team that she was putting Spencer through to say goodbye and they better be nice to him. Suddenly his screen was full of concerned faces.

"Goodbye, what's going on, pretty boy?" Morgan was front and center and managed to speak first. Spencer wanted to reassure him the way he had Garcia, but it was hard to be that open with the whole team watching.

"They want someone to follow up at a base where Phillips was stationed. The base already had a request in for someone to handle certain investigations, and they want me to take a two-year position as a consulting detective. It looks like work I'd enjoy, and they made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Hotch will have the paperwork on his desk by the time you all land, but I'm leaving with Lt. Phillips and Dr. Beckett in about ten minutes."

"You're saying they have related cases at a military base?" Hotch asked, not able to say much since only he and Reid knew there were alien planets involved.

"Not with kids, as far as I know. But there's some medical link that Beckett wants to follow up on, and he thinks I could help with parts of that and some other issues there."

"You want to do this? You're not being pressured in any way?"

"I promise you, Aaron, I want to take this job." Using Hotch's first name was a security protocol they'd worked out for possible hostage situations, but it served for this as well. Spencer could see the team leader and others nod and relax. "I really am sorry to be leaving, and especially to do it like this and with no warning. I'll send in my final report for the case in Cascade and whatever else I can, but communication may be spotty. I already talked to Garcia about that."

"It was good working with you, Spencer. Keep in touch as much as you can." Rossi set the tone as the others started saying their goodbyes.

"I'll miss you, Spencer. You know that, right?" Emily sounded as real to him as she had before the whole fake death fiasco. Her eyes seemed to seek his out in a way she hadn't in person.

"I'll miss you, too, Emily. I'm glad you're back with the team."

"I know you're still mad at me, Spence, but I hope you know I only wish the best for you," JJ said.

Spencer was still mad, and he wasn't going to deny it. The best he could manage was, "You too, JJ."

"Make friends, pretty boy. And send us pictures. Even if they can't show where you are, I want to see your new team or whoever you hang with there." Morgan leaned toward the screen in a way that Spencer knew would have included some sort of touch if he could manage that through Facetime.

"I'll see what I can do. And I'll trust you and Garcia to send me all sorts of embarrassing off duty shots featuring all of you."

"Will do, pretty boy."

"Garcia's signaling they need to cut your connection," Hotch said. "Send a note for Jack when you can. He really does like you, despite what you think. And come see us sometime, no matter when that may be."

#

Spencer stepped through the Stargate onto Atlantis and felt instantly welcomed. Perhaps it was the wormhole doorway that looked like a bath, but he came through feeling clean and new on a level he didn't understand. As he guided the motorized cart with his shipping container across the red patterned floor, the room appeared to light a little brighter wherever he looked. A broad staircase glowed with bluish lights decorating the front of each step and led up to enormous panels of what looked like blue stained glass. Half a dozen people worked on the balcony level above, where the most prominent forward angles were lit again with the bluish lights. Beneath the overhangs a warmer, whitish light shown down to illuminate the polished red floor and steps below.

Beckett hurried off to the left with Phillips on his gurney. A medical team met him and rushed Phillips out the door.

Spencer with his shipping container was motioned to the right, to an out of the way patch of floor beneath an overhang. As the wormhole shut down, he could see a partially obscured pattern of purple stained glass behind. It reminded him of the front window on the earlier spaceship, and he wondered if the Ancient's aesthetics had also played a role in that design.

No sooner had the wormhole closed than a new one opened. In that moment Spencer could see that the Gate on Atlantis was far more artistically finished than the one on Earth. It had bright teal pointers spaced around the outer rim, and the patterns along the inner circle looked much more like constellations, but with bright blue dots glowing on black. Spencer wondered how many planets in the Pegasus Galaxy had Stargates compared to their own Milky Way. The information from Walter on the tablet would probably tell him, as soon as he had time to read the rest.

There were raised voices from the other side of the room. "McKay, get your weapon ready, scanner is secondary."

"You're sure we can't take a jumper?"

There was an exaggerated, put upon sigh. "Lorne's team reported the Gate was overgrown with forest."

"They also reported no life signs before getting themselves ambushed." In McKay's voice, it sounded like an insult.

"So the Life Signs Detector might not work right anyway."

The two bickering men were dressed identically in some sort of plain black jackets, matching black uniform pants, and black tac vests. With them were a man and a woman who wore the same black tac vests, but with sleeveless leather shirts, the man's more like a vest and the woman's like a bodice. The woman wore uniform pants, but the man wore leathers that wouldn't have been out of place in some nightclubs. The mass of dreadlocks on his head was a personal statement unto itself. Both had darker skin, possibly part African, though Spencer would have guessed some Pacific Islander ancestry for the man, if they were even from Earth. Something beyond their clothes, in the way they moved or held themselves, suggested they didn't grow up on Earth, or not in the States at the very least.

The four moved around each other and fell into formation without any visible communication. The profiler instincts in Spencer saw something almost criminal or pack-like in the way they worked together. The one with spiky black hair took the lead with the large dreadlocked man close on his left.

As they approached the Gate, another team of four fell in behind them. That group moved in formation, like trained military, but not as if they'd been fighting together long. It included two men and two women with short hair, tidy uniforms, and tac vests, still all in black.

All eight leaving through the Gate were armed, with at least one weapon raised as they stepped into the rippling blue circle. To Spencer, the departure was beautiful, although he could read on every face that these men and women were stepping into danger.

There was increased movement on the balcony above him and what sounded like a radio message of, "No hostiles present at Gate. Check in at two hours. Sheppard out." The voice was that of the spiky haired man. He must be Sheppard.

As the Gate shut down, a Marine wearing camo actually labeled "US Marines" swept the room and addressed Spencer, "Sir, you can't stay here. Incoming pallets need to go to receiving."

"Okay, where's that?" Spencer asked, eager to learn his way around any new location.

The Marine, who looked even younger than Spencer did, led him to a storage room with tables along one side and a clearly alien computer console in one corner. As Spencer maneuvered his cubic meter case on motorized wheels in front of a table, the young Marine left.

When no one returned in five minutes or so, Spencer dug out the tablet Walter had given him. There weren't any chairs, so Spencer sat on a table and began to read. It was a good thing that Spencer read fast, because Walter had included summary information going back to the start of the Atlantis Expedition eight years before, as well as Lt. Phillips' reports for the twenty-eight missions he'd been part of while stationed there. By the time Spencer finished, his watch said it was past midnight in Quantico and past three a.m. in the time zone he'd woken up in. He fell asleep sitting on a table and leaning forward onto his cubic meter of worldly possessions.

#

Three hours later, Spencer woke to male voices bickering as they drew nearer, and couldn't for a moment place which pair he was hearing.

"How can you blame the military for losing him?"

"He's the only ATA carrier the city systems can't identify. My people wouldn't have lost him. One of them reported the life signs anomaly three hours ago."

ATA…the city…Atlantis…Spencer remembered the two men's banter before heading out through the Gate.

"Reported to whom?"

"To me, but I was off planet with you rescuing military types!" the apparently non-military McKay proclaimed loudly from the middle of the room.

Spencer looked up to find McKay's next words directed at him. "Tell me you're the missing Dr. Reid, because I really can't be bothered to rescue anyone else before dinner." Beside him and still all dressed in black, but without the tac vests, were Sheppard and the man and woman Spencer had seen with them earlier who wore only partially standardized uniforms. It was a bit much to wake up to after only three hours of sleep.

By not moving from his seat on the table behind the packing container, Spencer avoided any concerns about shaking hands as he introduced himself. "Dr. Spencer Reid, pleased to meet you. I was told to wait here with my belongings."

"And was the person who told you that military or civilian?" McKay snapped.

Before Spencer could decide if he was meant to answer or not, the woman in the laced leather bodice, whose light brown, almost auburn hair now fell loose around her face, stepped forward. "I am Teyla Emmagen. Welcome to Atlantis."

"Shouldn't one of us be the first to welcome him?" McKay asked Sheppard.

"This is why she can't take us anywhere." Sheppard shook his head and smiled in a way calculated to charm. "Hi, I'm Colonel John Sheppard, Military Commander of Atlantis." He motioned to the man beside him. "This is Dr. Rodney McKay, Head of Science. That's Specialist Ronon Dex." Sheppard pointed over his shoulder at the large man with dreads who grunted in acknowledgement. "Evidently, we're supposed to be in a meeting with you, Beckett, and Woolsey five minutes ago."

"But we haven't eaten since lunch, and I'm hypoglycemic, so food is a medical necessity. We're stopping by the mess first," McKay said as he turned toward the door.

"Thanks, I haven't eaten since lunch either," Spencer said to McKay's back. He didn't bother to mention that had been in a very different time zone and before he ever considered that he might not be on Earth the next day. "Did everything turn out all right at the Gate with the overgrown forest?"

"Sure," Sheppard said, stretching out the word into an almost Southern drawl as they all followed behind McKay. "How'd you know about that?"

McKay didn't give Spencer a chance to answer. Nor did he slow down or turn around to talk. "His second in command got himself tied to a pole as part of a spring dance involving seeds and flower petals. Then that team's scientist, if you can seriously call botany a science, tried to collect samples of the vegetation being used and almost got himself turned into mulch for upsetting the ritual."

Spencer responded to the outpouring of information with his own ramble. "Composting raw meat is inherently problematic because it attracts vermin and breeds a variety of pathogens. While it can be managed safely if kept to the center of a warm and well turned compost pile, I suspect some of the concerns associated with cannibalism would apply, most notably prion-based diseases, which are overwhelmingly lethal partially because prions demonstrate the unique ability to trigger other prion structures like themselves in the brain. As far as rituals, do you know of any in this galaxy that involve spreading semen over the eyes, nose, and mouth of a young boy, possibly while placing a hand on his chest?"

"He's definitely sitting at the scientists' table," Sheppard said as they entered the mess hall.

"Hey, I'm a scientist, and I usually sit at your table. Sometimes Zelenka does, too. Also, he's talking about botany and medical stuff, which hardly counts as science anyway. Oooh, meatloaf!"

Spencer loaded a plate with meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and something that might be a variety of green beans. Then he gratefully followed McKay to a coffee station that offered large travel mugs. He filled one with his usual mix of coffee and sugar with a little cream before following the rest of them to a meeting room with sliding wall panels just off the Gate Room where he'd started.

"Dr. Reid, good to see you're settling in," Beckett greeted him from one corner of a dark, roughly triangular table. "Have you met our civilian leader, Mr. Woolsey?"

Spencer made a vague motion with his plate to avoid any uncertainty about shaking hands. "Pleased to meet you," Spencer tried to convey confidence by keeping his eyes up and his shoulders back as he sat down to Beckett's right.

"Please, everyone, go ahead and eat. I understand that with the emergency mission, schedules needed to shift around a bit." Even Spencer could tell the balding bureaucrat in his suit and tie didn't like having his meeting delayed or turned into a dinner event.

Nonetheless, finally having food available, Spencer realized he was starving. He dug in. It was all good, even if the beans were almost certainly alien and he wasn't too sure about the mashed potatoes or meatloaf.

Beckett picked up the slack and explained recent events. "At the end of my time on Earth, a situation came up in which DNA from Lt. Phillips was found at a crime scene in Cascade, Washington. Phillips had been stationed in Atlantis for the last two years and chose to leave the military upon his return to Earth. His crimes, which the FBI and local police were investigating, involved spreading semen on the faces of abducted children, but his DNA from the semen sample appeared to have been genetically modified. Because I was already visiting Earth, General O'Neill asked for my help. I found evidence that the mutation had spread to all three children, presumably through semen being applied to their mucus membranes. It had not spread to any of the children's families or the police or FBI teams investigating the case, and my research so far suggests it is only viable in semen. The major changes seem to occur in the Y-chromosome, and my initial analysis suggests similarities with Pegasus DNA common to Iratus life forms and Wraith." Postures around the room tensed at the mention of the Wraith. "O'Neill and I set up a medical alert to watch for other occurrences, just in case, and placed the three infected boys under medical surveillance."

"How old are the boys?" Teyla asked.

"Who cares about three kids? I thought we were done with the Wraith!" McKay complained with his mouth stuffed full. Beckett placed a firm but calming hand on the physicist's shoulder and glared until he shut his mouth.

"Four, five, and six," Beckett answered Teyla. "I'm not too worried about them as carriers because they are significantly pre-pubescent and the only transmission vector appears to be semen. However, all three are suffering a form of amnesia regarding their time with Lt. Phillips and have become quiet and withdrawn compared to their former personalities. We considered bringing them here and putting them in stasis pods while I research a gene therapy to reverse the effects, but decided against it. Phillips is now in stasis, although the changes to his DNA appear to be almost complete. I want some time to confirm there won't be unexpected complications at a later stage."

"I'll make sure you have whatever you need to help Lt. Phillips and those boys. However, I'm not sure I understand Dr. Reid's recruitment in relation to all this," Woolsey said.

"He's ATA positive. All reports say the effected boys and the unsub were unusually drawn to him, and the way they touched his chest looked a lot like a Wraith trying to feed."

Eyes shifted to Spencer in an assessing way. Despite the reading he'd done before his nap, it wasn't until the Wraith were first mentioned and everyone tensed that Spencer truly understood. The people around him had fought—and thought they'd won—a war against the Wraith.

"How do you think this relates to the Wraith, Dr. Beckett?" Teyla asked slowly.

"I don't know yet." Beckett met Teyla's eyes across the table. "I don't want to cause undue worry, but the carrier virus used is similar to Michael's last two attempts at creating hybrid armies." The silence around the table said it all. "Sheppard had already put in a request for a detective to help look into or mediate other disputes here on Atlantis. And it seems possible that some reports we've heard of unexplained disappearances could relate to someone trying to continue Michael's work. We never determined what Michael's aptitudes were before we tried to make him human, but even with what he borrowed from Earth science, he stands out as the greatest innovator we've encountered in this galaxy." Ronon grunted. "I realize we missed meeting most of the Satedans and that the Wraith had intentionally obstructed scientific work on Hoff and other planets. And I'll withhold comment on the Genii. Still, some of what Michael did to clone me, body and mind, we still haven't figured out. From what I saw as a captive and as we tried to rescue Teyla, it's possible he left substantial infrastructure and research notes behind that could lead to future biological threats." After a pause and deep silence across the room, Beckett looked over at McKay and said, "Besides, Dr. Reid has the ATA gene and three doctorates in math and sciences. He seems like a natural recruit for Atlantis."

"What are your degrees in?" The lines on McKay's face shifted from grouchy to focused in a way that made him look five years younger.

"Doctorates in math, chemistry, and civil engineering. Bachelors in psychology, sociology, and philosophy."

"From where?" McKay scrunched his face up as if he tasted something bad from across the room.

Spencer had seen worse reactions, "The last Bachelors is from MIT. The other degrees are all from Caltech."

"Why?"

"Dr. Rayo at MIT asked me to join a pilot group for a new online philosophy class he was planning. He has fascinating ideas on the philosophy of logic and language. From there, I piloted a few other classes and ended up with another degree. I'm thinking I might go for a Masters next, possibly in linguistics."

"Why would anyone who can do math and science want to study philosophy and linguistics?" McKay's expression was more curious than disgusted now, so Spencer considered that a positive development.

Woolsey cut in with, "Your job here is listed as 'consulting detective' and your last employer was the FBI."

"Yes, I worked with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI for the last nine years. I don't know who came up with that job title."

"Sherlock Holmes." They were the first words Spencer had ever heard Ronon speak, and his voice was a deep, resonant rumble. They made Spencer partially rethink his assumptions regarding Ronon, if he was in fact a native of the Pegasus Galaxy. The other three members of his team nodded, and Spencer concluded they watched the show together. Penelope would be pleased to hear it. Spencer was curious about the processes of acculturation on Atlantis.

Sheppard tilted his head, slouched back further in his chair and asked, "What did you do, and how old are you anyway?"

"I'm thirty." Spencer gave the room at large a flat look in the hope it would put the issue of his age to rest. He didn't think he looked too young anymore. "The Behavioral Analysis Unit uses behavior-based techniques to support FBI and other investigations. My team focused primarily on serial murder cases, but was called out for the serial abductions case in Cascade, Washington before an infection-based motive was anticipated. In most other cases, serial abductors evolve into sexual assailants and serial murderers. My math and engineering backgrounds also lend themselves to geographic profiling. I have an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words a minute under the right conditions."

"IQ?" McKay asked, and Spencer realized the man displayed fewer social skills that he had, even in college.

It was recorded in his files so he answered, "187, however, I agree with those who question the normalization of scores in that range as well as the conceptual validity underlying the test as it is often used today."

"Hah, I'm still the smartest man in two galaxies." When no one in the room did more than roll their eyes as McKay pumped his fist in the air, Spencer thought he might not stand out as a misfit for once.

Finally, Woolsey said, "What do you need to get started in you new role, Dr. Reid?"

"Well, I've finished all the reading material I was given about the Atlantis Expedition and all of Lt. Phillips' mission reports. Clearly I need to undertake orders of magnitude more research about situations and personnel here for my larger job description. However, for the case at hand, is there a way to access and sort through mission reports for mentions of disappearing populations or any rituals involving semen? That would be a start. Also, I'd like to visit M9R-521, where Phillips visited a now abandoned village, as it's the closest lead I have on a crime scene. Dr. Beckett, could you forward whatever information is available on the person you referred to, Michael, his previous experiments, and whatever you determine about the current genetic engineering? Finally, I'm not sure where I'm supposed to be living or working."

There was a hush around the table, something Spencer had come to expect when he gave people the information they asked for a bit more efficiently than they were anticipating.

McKay recovered first, tapping at the tablet in front of him. "Okay, I set him up with a standard Atlantis server account with general research privileges. Reid, your initial login is your first and last name, no spaces. Temporary password is 187. Sheppard, you should find a request on his behalf for non-preferential access to all mission reports. Beckett, you have a request for file sharing for your Michael research. You'll have to figure out if he needs anything beyond that. Remember everyone, I am still not your sys admin. Can I go now?"

"Thank you, McKay. Colonel, could you assign someone to find Dr. Reid quarters and determine if or when he can visit the planet he requested?"

"On it." He tapped the radio at his ear and with a sly smirk said, "Lorne, if you're sufficiently recovered from that little spring dance, we've got a new civilian recruit left homeless while your team collected flowers."

Woolsey folded his hands on the table. "Thank you everyone. Welcome to Atlantis, Dr. Reid."

#

"Come on," Ronon said.

Spencer had been in Atlantis two days and was working his way through habitable areas using maps the incredibly helpful Ancient technology provided. When Ronon appeared in his path, they were in a hall containing several gyms and workout spaces.

"Who me?" Spencer asked.

Ronon stared him right in the eye and ducked back through the nearest door. Some of the man's body language was a little alarming, setting off red flags Spencer usually associated with unsubs. But enough was predatory in a military way or just plain alien that the analyst was trying to reserve judgment.

Spencer kept his head up and followed Ronon onto a floor covered with one large mat. On a clipboard by the door was a list of names—some first, some last, one line read "Judo Club." Several slots in the morning had been covered with one name written large—Ronon. Spencer noticed it was written using some kind of felt tipped calligraphy pen with the long edges making wide stripes vertically rather than at an angle. That and the way Ronon minimized the curves at the corners made the familiar letters look almost like a code. It occurred to Spencer that while he'd read mission reports that mentioned Ronon's seven years as a Runner, hunted by the Wraith, and the destruction of his home planet, Sateda, nothing had told him if Satedans had a written language. He was fairly sure the Gate translation protocols didn't extend to writing, and the Wraith had intentionally limited any development they thought might become a threat to them. Despite that, the Satedans had become a threat to the Wraith. Their planet and people had been annihilated in retribution, but if written records had survived…

"Shoes," Ronon said.

The big man stood in the middle of the mat, already barefoot.

"Um, I'm not really sure what you want me to do here."

"Shoes off."

"Yes, I understand about protecting the gym mats and that many forms of martial arts are practiced with bare feet. But I'm not sure if you brought me here to spar, which I can assure you would be a most uneven match. Not only do you out mass me and have a clear muscular advantage"—Spencer would have thrown in a compliment about Ronon's muscles and overall physique, which was certainly worth admiring, but he'd learned not to compliment other men that way in most situations—"but I was excused from most of the physical requirements at the FBI academy because I'm not particularly coordinated and most of my value as a team member is in my brain and sometimes my ability to understand an unsub's point of view and talk out a peaceful resolution."

Ronon grunted. "Talk later. Fight now."

"Thanks for the invitation, but if we're going to M9R-521, it would probably be better not to risk any injuries that might interfere in the field."

"You run fast?"

"Um, no, not especially, although I'm in reasonable physical condition. Dr. Beckett already cleared me medically, and Major Lorne certified me to carry a weapon." While he'd only been ready to test on small arms, Spencer found the last several months of working through his issues on the firing range had left him with a rather impressive test score, at least on the board for Atlantis civilians.

"Need to defend yourself when you can't shoot or run."

Spencer thought back to all the times in his life when that had been much too true. He kept his face blank and refused to shiver. "True, but I doubt I'll learn in a day what I haven't learned in thirty years."

"Try me." Ronon's smile as he said it was more a barring of teeth.

"Is this some sort of required hand to hand test? Did Sheppard tell you to do this?"

Ronon shrugged. Spencer wasn't sure if that meant Sheppard had ordered it or that Ronon felt his authority extended to testing anyone going on a mission with his team. It was clear Spencer either had to get out on the mat or fail whatever test Ronon was running.

Spencer took off his shoes, socks, vest, and over shirt. He still wasn't dressed for sparring, but against Ronon, that probably didn't matter. Either the man would pull his punches or he meant to teach Spencer a different sort of lesson. So long as he didn't hurt Spencer too much to complete the mission tomorrow, it wasn't as if Spencer couldn't handle a little pain and humiliation.

Ronon had Spencer on the ground before he knew they'd begun.

"Get up."

Spencer stood, and when he saw Ronon kicking out again with the same move, Spencer dodged sideways. Ronon kicked from the other side, and Spencer went down.

Ronon looked down at him with hands on his hips and lowered brows.

Spencer got up and saw the next kick coming in time to dodge backwards, which would have worked for either side. After that, Ronon followed him around the mat, adjusting to whichever direction Spencer jumped. He only used low kicks and only changed techniques after Spencer had successfully dodged a move once. That didn't prevent him bringing back an earlier move, which often knocked Spencer on his ass because he wasn't expecting it.

After at least thirty falls in maybe twenty minutes, Ronon started following up with a hit or grab after Spencer dodged. When he pulled Spencer up against his chest in something like a strangle hold, it was all Spencer could do to keep his breathing even and not panic. After a moment, his brain went to a surprisingly calm place and he realized the seeming giant wasn't that much taller than him, maybe six foot four to Spencer's six foot one.

Ronon sniffed and Spencer couldn't help but sniff too, in some variation on social yawning. While the larger man smelled a little musky and salty, as if he'd been active all morning, he wasn't particularly sweaty from whatever he was doing with Spencer. The profiler hoped his own damp clothing didn't carry the acrid scent of fear but only the exertion they both knew he'd been through.

Ronon freed him without a word, and Spencer dodged his next grab.

Spencer was surprised he made it through a full hour. Ronon didn't give verbal instructions, but his approach covered a logical progression and actually worked better for Spencer than any training methods at the FBI. What surprised Spencer most was realizing that he hadn't spoken or asked questions aloud through the entire hour. It had been a silent dance that he'd let Ronon lead.

When Ronon led him toward the door where he'd left his shoes, all Spencer could say was, "Thanks."

Ronon shrugged and said, "Don't get caught."

Spencer left with that ringing endorsement of his fighting skills in his head. At least he was competent with a gun now.

#

Spencer flew out with Sheppard's team to M9R-521 the next day. The Puddle Jumper seemed to pull Spencer in, the same way Atlantis had felt welcoming when he came through the Gate. He saw Sheppard run a hand along the front console and wondered if he felt the same around Ancient technology.

As Spencer sat down, a side panel popped open, presenting what looked like a handheld gaming device as if it were an in flight magazine. "What's that?" Spencer asked as the four regular Gate team members and Dr. Beckett settled into their seats.

"What did you touch?" McKay immediately scolded.

"Nothing. I just sat down, and you'll notice I asked before picking it up." Spencer waved a hand at the device still in its niche. "I assure you I've read all the briefing materials on Ancient technology that you and Dr. Zelenka have sent out."

"Hmph," McKay said as he pulled out a similar device of his own, "If the Jumper gives you a sandwich, Sheppard will be jealous."

Sheppard grinned at McKay and patted the Jumper.

As the Puddle Jumper lowered into the Gate Room and "jumped" through the "puddle," Beckett reached across to take the device from beside Spencer. "Aye, the Colonel, then a Major, discovered the Life Signs Detectors the first time he flew a Puddle Jumper. The ships can be rather assertive in offering technology or features to strong ATA carriers before they even know what they're asking."

Spencer leaned over to watch as Beckett demonstrated the basic operation of the LSD as they flew over trees and grasslands. "McKay has modified his LSD with additional programming. Basically, they show life signs, as you'd expect, and energy or radiation readings. You can tag certain readings or load in maps, but by default they can't differentiate between different life forms."

Beckett handed him the LSD, and Spencer did the mental equivalent of pushing every button. Penelope would be amused to see how well he'd taken to Ancient technology. He felt a pang remembering how she'd conscientiously prepared paper case files for him after switching everyone else's to electronic tablets. While Spencer was quite aware from reports he'd read that the Ancients had left some dangerous experiments behind, he'd been amazed to go three days on Atlantis without any systems freezing up on him or rearranging his data in ways he couldn't undo. Although he still had trouble finding what he wanted in the Ancient database, it was easier to access the full text of research entries than it had been on the web at home, and the mental controls on his shower made his accommodations nicer than the best hotel his BAU team had ever stayed in.

All too soon, the Jumper set down beside the empty village that Phillips' team had last visited. As they walked down the ramp, Spencer blinked. The light struck him as off.

They were surrounded by evergreen trees in a forest that could have passed for Cascade, Washington or numerous other places on Earth. But everything looked a little peculiar, maybe redder. He resisted the urge to look directly toward the sun and instead placed a hand on the sidearm he'd been cleared to carry. Sheppard had a hand on the P90 strapped to his chest, and Ronon had some sort of alien blaster in hand.

But the clearing beside the village was peaceful. The silence seemed unnatural only because twenty wooden dwellings stood nearby, and the only signs of life were lizards that skittered away as they approached. McKay was studying his LSD, but Spencer had left the one he'd been exploring on the Jumper. Teyla was bringing up the rear with Beckett, so Spencer couldn't immediately see how they approached the planet.

"There's a cluster of life signs about half a mile out that could be human," McKay said without looking up. "More likely some sort of apes that throw feces, given our usual luck."

"How many?" Sheppard asked.

"At least eight."

"Let us know if they come closer," Sheppard said. "Anything in the village?"

"Why of course, I thought I'd start with the most distant threat first." McKay's sarcasm was ignored by his teammates.

Spencer said, "I guess the lizards are too small to register?"

"What lizards?" McKay asked, pulling in his elbows as if to evade floating lizards.

Spencer pointed at one that had frozen in place beside a rock rather than fleeing.

"Pebble lizards," Teyla said as they made their way through the center of town. The houses were spread out along a central lane, all with enough space for vegetable gardens or outdoor seating in between. As the team peeked into hide covered doorways or elevated basket-weave supply bins, more lizards scattered. "They are not poisonous but will bite if cornered."

"Do you know anything about the people who lived here?" Spencer asked. "The Uticas, I believe they were called in the mission report."

Ronon grunted. "Don't expect us to all know each other."

Spencer wasn't sure if Ronon was offended or just didn't like him. "I have read the background data—from the Ancient hologram's assertion that over one thousand planets in this galaxy were previously inhabited to current estimates of approximately three hundred. With average planetary populations estimated at between two hundred and five hundred people, I would not expect even a well traveled diplomat such as Teyla to know everyone, or to be familiar with all known populations. However, given that Teyla knew about the lizards and that Atlantis had previous contact with this settlement, I thought one of you might know something about the people who disappeared. For example, these houses still contain bedding and kitchenware, but I don't see any children's toys by the small sleeping mats. It would help to know what contents might have been expected so that we could tell if anything was missing."

"I do not believe any of us have personally visited this planet before," Teyla answered, coming over to the same doorway where Spencer stood. "But there is a distinct lack of children's toys. These people appear to have been farmers and hunters with permanent dwellings. I would expect each child to possess at least one or two toys. I see none in the children's beds or the baby baskets. There are shrines in the common areas where many cultures would display drawings or tokens of their ancestors or gods. I see none here."

Everyone gathered around as Teyla spoke, and Spencer tried to shake off the pressing anxiety of being surrounded. Teyla's easy presumptions about a group she didn't know, combined with how much she and Ronon had absorbed of Earth social norms and even television, made Spencer wonder if cultural overlap was actually heightened by freedom of travel through the Stargates. In addition to the Wraith suppressing certain advancements, he wondered if easy transit between entirely different climates and seasons led to a greater frequency of trade, with concomitant cultural exchange, among non-industrial societies. From his reading, he knew Teyla's people and others were also semi-nomadic, including occasional relocation to other planets. The settlement they were visiting, as Teyla had already pointed out, looked fairly permanent.

"Does it look to you as if the villagers left willingly?" Spencer asked as he stepped farther inside the dwelling to check for marks where something appeared to have been removed from the family shrine. "Or perhaps they were lured with a ruse that would cause them to grab only their most treasured possessions."

"Eww," McKay said as he stared down at the child's bed. "You said the Earth kids had semen rubbed on their faces." He was pointing to a white smudge on a child's blanket.

Spencer pulled out gloves, scissors, and a baggie he'd tucked into his tac vest. "Is it okay to treat this like a crime scene and take a sample for analysis?"

Teyla came around to the other side of the bed as Spencer put on the gloves. "Are you suggesting cutting a piece from the blanket to bring back to test if that is semen?"

"I'm hoping Dr. Beckett can check for the same genetic modifications we saw in the Earth samples."

At the mention of his name, Beckett stepped in from the doorway. "DNA is fairly robust. I can try."

Spencer was squatting by the blanket with his sample bag and scissors in hand, but he waited for Teyla to nod before he cut and bagged. He was glad Ronon was still outside, given his earlier objections about treating the Pegasus natives as more capable of representing the Utica people. To Spencer, it only made sense to ask for any expertise available. He would have stopped if McKay or Beckett had objected based on their long experience in Pegasus or whatever professional grounds. Maybe he should point that out to Ronon, not that Ronon seemed interested in hearing his explanations. "I don't suppose anyone has a camera to capture the crime scene?"

McKay huffed, "Weren't you issued a tablet?"

"Does that take pictures?"

McKay squinted at him. "Really, you come from Earth?"

Spencer pulled out his tablet, and McKay helped him photograph the scene.

"You need to check all the homes that thoroughly?" Sheppard asked as they returned outside.

Before Spencer could answer Ronon said, "No." He took a deep breath through his nose and started walking away.

"Where are you going, you barbarian? That's the way toward potentially crazy apes." McKay complained, but everyone followed Ronon down a narrow path into the woods.

Sheppard and Ronon were in the front with their weapons drawn. McKay grabbed Beckett's arm in the middle of the group saying, "You're the supposed head of medical. Tell them how that other team, the one with the geologist, ended up in the infirmary for a week after rabid ape things bit and clawed them."

"It wasn't exactly rabies," Carson said, patting Rodney's hand on his arm, "and I hardly think our biggest concern—"

Spencer had a split second to realize the four people in front of him had disappeared straight down before a hard shove from behind sent him flying into the pit trap with Teyla being shoved right beside him. Spencer instinctively protected his head. He didn't try to land on his feet, which was probably also instinct born of past injuries. Instead, he landed in a belly flop on top of Ronon. One of the elbows Spencer had pulled up to protect his face caught the larger man to the side of his eye. For a moment the well muscled man lay warm and prone beneath Spencer, staring up at him from mere inches apart. A jolt like a giant static charge spread across Spencer's body, and he knew the moment and that electric sensation were burned into his memory forever.

Ronon shoved Spencer aside while regaining his feet and training his blaster on the edge of the hole.

"Where did you send our men?" A high pitched voice bellowed from someplace above. The speaker stayed out of sight, but Ronon aimed his blaster in the apparent direction.        

Teyla stood, dusting herself off with a pair of smooth sticks. "We did not do anything with your men. We have traded with your village for foodstuffs in the past and are wondering what happened here."

"Woman warrior, are you <buzz> to one of the men you travel with?" Spencer had forgotten about the translations protocol supplied by the Gate system until one part of the question sounded like a buzz, confounding the meaning.

"Our ways may be different than yours," Teyla replied without missing a beat. "My husband is with our child while I am here."

"Are you pregnant now?" The voice asked, sounding younger and less certain than before.

"I am not."

There was whispering above them. "Our custom dictates you should not be left in a situation where parentage of a child might be disputed. We will let you leave the pit and stay under guard with us if you will all set down your weapons while we lower a rope. Your men will be hostage for your good behavior."

Teyla and Ronon communicated quickly with glances to each other, toward a treetop in the distance, in the direction of the Gate, and with Sheppard. Spencer suspected there was more strategy determined through that non-verbal exchange than he could interpret, but at the very least, he guessed that someone had eyes and possibly a weapon trained on them from a distant tree and that Teyla would try to make for the Gate if she could escape surveillance. From all the mission reports he'd read, Spencer was sure the team had an expected check in time, after which a rescue party would be sent. But he didn't know how long they had before then. Without cultural context or even seeing their captors, it was impossible to know how much danger they faced in the meantime.

Ronon set down his blaster and a sheathed knife. Teyla set down her sticks, a knife, and two guns. Sheppard and McKay set down two guns each. Spencer and Carson each set down one. All of them could hear McKay whisper to Beckett, "Are they suggesting we might have an orgy in their pit trap? With Teyla? Ow, I think I twisted my ankle in the fall."

Beckett crouched beside the head scientist whispering, "Blue skies, Rodney. Ease the pain down." No one else paid him any mind.

Then a coarse rope dropped over the side of the pit, and Teyla climbed out easily, as if she did it every day. The rope was pulled up behind her.

"Hands behind your back," the same high pitched voice said. "We will ask you questions separately from the men. Do not try to lie."

It was easy to hear Teyla being led away by at least two people. More than two seemed to remain above, guarding the pit. Sheppard shifted in close behind McKay, and Spencer realized the two of them and Beckett were checking the Life Signs Detector. They showed no regard for personal space when focused together. Ronon kept his back to one side of the pit and his gaze trained on the upper rim.

When Teyla and her guards were well away, the same voice as before asked, "Who is your leader?"

"That would be me, John Sheppard. And you are?" Sheppard eased back toward the wall, falling into a languid slouch that Spencer already recognized as one the of the Colonel's confident facades.

"You may call me Hunt Leader." Spencer would bet from the proud tone that it was a title recently bestowed upon the speaker. "Why did you come here?"

"To check up on our trading partners," Sheppard answered, studying the walls of the pit, but not looking up. It was an impressive pit, at least twenty feet deep with vertical sides. Some parts toward the bottom were reinforced with old stone, but the walls near the top looked freshly smoothed with something like stucco. The bits of cover that had fallen in with them were no larger than pine needles, some patches still roughly woven together. They provided nothing useful as a weapon or for climbing out.

"Aaaand?" Spencer had no idea how a translation program could capture the drawing out of an initial vowel sound when the translated word might not even begin with a vowel, but to his Earth mind, it cemented the image of Hunt Leader as an adolescent female.

"One of our people who visited here before is sick. We wondered if he might have caught something here," John said. "If you let us out of this pit, we might be able to help if any of your people are sick or if you want to discuss another trade deal."

"You will stay in the pit. If we deem you honest and useful, you will live." Spencer kept telling himself he didn't know enough to build a profile, but the more he heard, the less he thought Hunt Leader would kill them. Of course, he had almost no information about the others working with her. He felt his suspicions confirmed when she asked, "Who among your people is sick and who did he meet with here?"

When Sheppard shrugged at Ronon, Spencer mouthed, "Can I try?" He pointed to his own mouth. Sheppard lowered his eyebrows skeptically but then nodded.

"The man who visited and came down sick is Lt. Phillips," Spencer said. He wished there had been more names and details in that team's mission report. "He met with Tribe Leader Ono among others. It took our people a while to realize he was sick but—"

"Stop. I did not ask for a tale of <buzz>."

Spencer wished he knew what concept didn't translate. Back on Earth he'd relied on his ability to calm unsubs and guess which approach would garner the most information. "Sorry, I ramble, but it could help you as much as me to know if anything similar happened among your people."

"Who are you?"

"Spencer Reid."

"If you lie to me, I will kill you, Spencer Reid. I will kill your leader, John Sheppard, as well. He is responsible for you."

Sheppard didn't look concerned. He nodded as if worse threats came his way all the time. Given his mission reports and Atlantis' logs, that was true.

Despite sharing much of the same history, McKay glared at Spencer. As his eyes scrunched into some approximation of the evil eye, Beckett put an arm around his shoulders and whispered something to calm the scientist.

"Well?" the young voice from above asked.

"Lt. Phillips came to a town near me a few weeks after he visited your village. Most people wouldn't have even known he was there, but three different boys disappeared on three different nights. Afterward, the boys couldn't remember what had happened. Each boy became quieter and less social than before. Eventually we realized they were sick, with a sickness only males could catch. We think Phillips made them sick by spreading his semen on their faces, perhaps as part of a ritual that also involved laying his hand on their chests. When we found Phillips and tried to ask him about what had happened, he said he didn't want to take the boys but that he had to. He seemed confused and talked about needing minds like his and wondering if I could hear his mind." When only silence greeted his words, Spencer asked, "Did anything like that happen here?"

There was more silence, followed by whispers and someone running away

Finally the voice said, "Climb out, Spencer Reid. If you bring a weapon or try to make trouble, we will shoot everyone in the pit."

Spencer looked to the others as the rope came over the side. Ronon kept his gaze fixed above. Beckett frowned as Rodney rolled his eyes. Sheppard waved upward in the direction of the rope, so Spencer climbed. He was embarrassed knowing how clumsy he must look compared to Teyla, but at least he was fit enough to make the climb easily. His FBI academy teachers would have been pleased by his physical improvement over the years.

At the top of the pit, Spencer was not surprised to have his hands bound behind his back. He was surprised to have what looked to be a couple of Asian Goth girls tying him up as a couple of others pointed midnight black bows and arrows at him. One more held a chipped stone knife. He wondered if Ronon would be disappointed at Spencer for not fighting in this situation.

All he could see of each girl was her eyes, and he realized that thinking in terms of race in a different galaxy was even more pointless than on Earth, where he'd mostly given in to police requirements to include race in all profiles. However, the eyes watching him were incredibly uniform, with a monolid and absolutely no eyelid crease. The irises were all dark brown and clear. None of the girls displayed a noticeable nasal bridge or any wrinkles from prolonged squinting or exposure to the elements. In such a living situation, that surely meant they were young. Their heads were wrapped in dark fabric with only a slit for the eyes. Even their mouths were loosely covered.

The remainders of their bodies were completely wrapped in dark leather or cloth. Their arms were wrapped down to the palms with only tan fingers sticking out. None of them would be described as curvy, and while it was hard to know when faced with a group that looked so much alike on a planet so far from his home, Spencer had trouble believing any of his captors could be more than sixteen. He thought back to teenaged Amy who had helped him in high school and then after by caring for his mother. He thought of how his BAU team would laugh to see him surrounded by young ninja girls with primitive weapons. Still, the girls had caught a US Air Force Colonel and two very capable Pegasus natives in a pit trap, so Spencer had to respect their proven ability.

Once his arms were bound from wrists to elbows behind him, one of the girls glided her hands over Spencer's shoulders and across his chest from behind. He flinched. Usually he could suppress such reactions, but in this case, he hadn't expected what could only be called a caress. The girl touching him could be identified by voice as Hunt Leader when she said, "You're very tall. Are you a father of sons?"

"Um, no."

"Are you a father of daughters?"

"None of those either," Spencer admitted. He'd caught the earlier concern for Teyla's fertility and the paternity of any children and suspected his answers would not be well received. Still, he judged honesty was best from what little he knew.

Hunt Leader pressed up beside him and slid her hand to cup his balls and stroke his cock. "Do you find it difficult to give yourself to a woman?"

"I'm sorry, but in my culture, this is not done without both people wanting it." He struggled to keep his voice matter of fact.

"You do not find it pleasurable?"

"Not in this context." He would have found it unbearable, except he stuck to thinking of his assailants as young people testing limits. Teens might try out provocative behaviors without really intending violation or abuse. While the girl fondling him was definitely exploring her own power over a captive male, he didn't think she actually meant him harm.

"Tell me why?"

"I do not wish to offend you, but I don't know you. I have no idea what matters to you or who you are as a person, and I suspect you are much too young for me, by the standards of my people."

"Your people cannot feel attraction to those younger or newly met?"

"I can't feel attraction to someone I barely know, let alone when being held prisoner or being fondled in public."

"And if I was a man?"

"That wouldn't make any difference."

"What if I offered to trade the others' safe release for you staying here to father many children?" Her hand was still stroking his cock in a way that suggested she was somewhat experienced with men, whatever her actual age. Spencer hoped his lack of response wouldn't create a problem, because there was nothing he could do about it even if he'd wanted to.

"I doubt any of my people would agree to that. Why don't we talk about our real problems instead? Has something happened to the local men?" Hunt Leader slapped him on the ass before she stepped away. That final touch reminded him of guys in locker rooms more than any sexually charged situation he'd encountered.

At that point another girl came running up. "Their stories match." Her voice was incredibly similar to Hunt Leader's in pitch and cadence, although more submissive in tone. She appeared younger and with a squatter body type, reassuring Spencer that at least he could tell his captors apart.

"Do you know what is further down this path?" Hunt Leader asked Spencer.

"No."

"Come with me."

She led, staying a full body length ahead. The girl with the curved knife grabbed Spencer's arm and started marching him forward. A quick glance back showed at least one girl with a bow following them. The bow was made of a beautiful black wood, shiny and with a carefully carved grip for her fingers. Although Spencer didn't know much about bows, the craftsmanship sent his assessment of the local culture up a notch.

Barely a minute's walk brought them to a patch of freshly packed dirt about the size of a SUV. To one side a piece of leather had been weighed down with rocks at the corners. On top of the leather were several children's toys and clay tablets with carved pictures on them. Spencer revised his thoughts on the items missing from the houses.

"Did you have to bury them yourselves?" Spencer asked, still unable to see his captors as fully adult. Even if they grew up in a universe at war with monsters, he hated to imagine these kids having to drag the bodies of family or friends to a mass grave.

"They were left in the pit. Almost every female from our village who was not out on the hunt. All of the grandmothers and young girls. We covered them and set out tokens." Hunt Leader projected the forced calm of a leader doing what she had to without seeing any other way.

"I'm so sorry." Spencer meant it and felt it wring him out inside, but his years with the BAU made it natural to keep working the case, even with his arms tied behind his back. "Did anyone see what happened?"

Hunt Leader tilted her head as if she'd been waiting for him to ask. "One arrow sentry saw everyone from the village walk out here together. She couldn't hear what was said, but the women went willingly, some carrying babies. Their own brothers and the fathers of their children turned upon them—all at once, stabbing or slashing throats, pushing them into the pit. Then the men left through the Ring of the Ancestors, taking only a couple of pregnant women with them."

"I'm sorry to pry, but had any of the men behaved strangely before that?"

She nodded, and Spencer knew she'd brought him to this grave to tell him something more. "After the last men's ritual, they were distant. The women joked about how many of them were too tired for sex, and that it must have been a very draining ritual. Some were sick. They took to their beds. Some of the sons who tended them became tired and distant as well."

"Do you know what's involved in the men's ritual?"

She looked down, then met his eyes sternly. "It is secret, but from signs on their bodies afterward, this was one that involved sex and running bare outside. It was no more than ten nights between that and..." She waved a hand to the mass grave. "Your Lt. Phillips must have visited before then. Also, what you described with the hand on the chest—I saw a couple of young boys reach out for our healer that way, as if drawn to his heartbeat."

The clearing was very quiet. Hunt Leader stared off to the side, over Spencer's shoulders. The two guards glanced around uncomfortably. "You're all avoiding the village because you're afraid they'll come back and kill you."

"Until your story, I had not thought an illness could cause this. Now that you have our story, you must tell us if you find a medicine or discover that some recover over time. We would rather have our men back than find replacements." Her poker face wasn't developed enough to hide her despair for lost loved ones, but she made a solid effort.

"I promise, I will tell you if we find a cure. We are going to do our best to stop this." It was impossible for Spencer not to feel for her and want to help, even with his arms still bound. At least the earlier unwanted advances seemed firmly off the table.

She nodded. "We will make a deal with your leader and your warrior woman."

The running girl Spencer had seen earlier appeared out of the trees when Hunt Leader raised her hand. She sent the runner to fetch Teyla, and they returned to the pit to negotiate a peaceful resolution.

#

Back in the Atlantis infirmary, Spencer was left waiting for his post-mission check. He'd been directed to a bed at the far end of the room with a privacy curtain around it. From what he could hear of Sheppard and McKay's back and forth, they either weren't behind privacy curtains or didn't mind talking through them. Eventually McKay won arguments about borrowing a specific pair of crutches while his ankle healed and needing time to both shower and eat before debriefing. Sheppard only seemed to win on choosing a movie for their team to watch that night, but Spencer suspected from his fond tone of voice that the Colonel was also happy to take time to shower and eat.

It surprised Spencer when Dr. Beckett was the one who finally ducked around his privacy curtain to check him over. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Had to pass my own post-mission check first. Are you the helpful sort who might start by telling me where you're hurt?"

"I don't think I'm hurt beyond a scrape or a bruise," Spencer said.

"Those would be fine spots to start then."

Beckett looked far too eager and helpful to have served as head of medicine through a war, even if he was technically a clone created in the middle of the war with the original doctor's memories up to that point. Nonetheless, Spencer appreciated his kindness. He obligingly held out his scraped forearms and pointed to where he could feel bruises forming on his shoulder and hip.

"Is there anything else at all?" Beckett asked after cleaning the scrapes and fetching ice for one noteworthy bruise.

"I mostly landed on Ronon in the pit. You think he'll hold a grudge for an elbow to the face?"

"Not in the course of a mission. I'll need to take a blood sample now." As Spencer held out his arm again, Beckett asked, "You know I'm going to test anyway, but if there was any sexual contact, whether or not you plan to mention it in debriefing, that is something you should tell me as a doctor."

"I would never—" Spencer's mind raced. "Did you see how young they were?"

"I heard you protesting advances I couldn't see. Then their leader took you away for long enough before setting us all free. While we all heard you tell her that we wouldn't trade in people or sex, you wouldn't be the first to take one for the team in that way. I certainly wouldn't judge you for that or anything that may have happened while you were her prisoner."

There was something about Beckett's gaze and voice that made Spencer want to hug the man. It was alarming because Spencer had never felt that way about someone he'd known for so short a time. He wondered if the circumstances under which they met and the life changing events in the interim were affecting his perspective. "I know you mean well, and I'm sorry you worried. But after we started down the path, no one even touched me. I think it was more a juvenile power play at first than a real sexual advance."

"And she didn't ask you for a semen sample or any other biological contribution?"

Spencer wondered at that question, but in a universe with cloning and bio-engineering, he could understand the difference in perspective. "No, she showed me a gravesite and told me what happened to her people. It's useful information that I'll pass on word for word in the debriefing. But I assure you, no one took anything from me or did anything harmful."

"Fine, fine," Beckett tilted his head and shrugged. "But even if there's nothing biological, what I overheard still sounded harmful. We all heard you protest her fondling. Your diplomacy in explaining your objections was admirable, but at the very least, you experienced a physical violation and a violation of consent. It would be good for you to talk with someone, either me or one of the psychologists here."

Spencer could barely suppress a laugh, and he didn't try to hide it.

"You think that's funny?" Beckett was frowning and watching Spencer closely.

"The last place I worked, terrible things happened to some member of the team at least once a month. No one talked about anything and psych evaluations were treated like annoying paperwork, a hoop to jump through. A few weeks before I met you, one of our team members came back after we'd believed her dead for seven months. Two of our team members had lied to the rest of us about her being dead the entire time, and they were annoyed that I couldn't get over it in a week. I was never referred for help with that, aside from some initial assessments with my unit chief when he was lying about her being dead. Now you're worried about a few minutes of inappropriate touching from a kid who'd lost over half her community and was trying to prove her power as a leader and a woman. I appreciate your concern, but maybe we should send someone to help those kids cope instead."

Beckett gazed at Spencer with wide open, moist eyes. "I think that's a fine suggestion. At the meeting, we should ask Teyla if there might be a culturally acceptable way to offer psychological support to those young women." Beckett raised a hand very slowly to Spencer's shoulder, either aware of Spencer's aversion to touch or used to such issues with the population he treated. Spencer had to suppress an initial startle, but the man's warm grip was surprisingly reassuring after the first moments. "I still think you should talk to someone, not just for what happened today but whatever wasn't dealt with before. There's no stigma to regular appointments with a psychologist here, and you're always welcome to knock on my door if you just need someone to listen."

Spencer sucked in his bottom lip, caught between a smile and a frown. If anyone on his old team had reached out to him that way, he might not have left the BAU. Even as he thought it, he felt guilty. Garcia had always been there for him on some level, he just wouldn't have felt right burdening her in his darker moments. She was his source of light, even if it might seem sexist or like he was casting her as some magic pixie dream girl. He'd gone to JJ and cried on her couch because he knew she could handle it. He'd been grateful she'd let him, but even before knowing about the big lie, he'd often felt judged and pitied by her. Although supportive in other ways, the rest of the team had seemed even less tolerant of his emotional nature, so he'd shut it down. For years he'd toed the line, downplayed emotions, hidden his nightmares and even his migraines. The only counseling he'd ever sought was anonymous group meetings to battle his addiction.

Realizing Beckett was still waiting with a hand on his shoulder, Spencer shrugged. The doctor let go but didn't move away.

"I'll keep your offer in mind, and what you said about seeing a psychologist. Aside from that, I think maybe I should tell you a couple things that aren't in my medical file."

"I'd appreciate that." Every muscle in Carson's face showed calm attention, and Spencer better understood the instances where he'd seen the doctor rapidly calm McKay.

"First, I've been having migraines for the past year. No physical cause was found despite numerous tests. Right now, I'm hoping I left them behind with my old job, but that's probably optimistic. Second, there is a note on my forms that I don't react well to narcotics and decline to ever be given any. What it doesn't say is that I was addicted to dilaudid. It started without my consent in a hostage situation, but I relapsed once. On Earth I attended anonymous support group meetings, but I doubt you have anything like that here."

"Seriously? You doubt that do you?" Carson smiled as he asked. "Half our team today was forced into dependence on the Wraith enzyme at one or more points. I know we have support groups, some specialized and some more general. I'll have to check to find out current details for what you might attend."

"I'd appreciate that." Spencer meant it and was amazed by how at ease he felt with Beckett.

"Okay, I'm going to let you go for now. I'm sure you want a meal and a hot shower like the rest of us. Then I'll look forward to hearing your new information at the debrief."

#

Spencer's morning walk was usually peaceful. He'd been noticing over his first week in Atlantis which people introduced themselves the first time he saw them and which ones waited until they'd seen him over and over in the same places most mornings. He liked to start at the mess hall to pick up a travel cup of coffee, make his way past the fitness area and Gate Room in the main tower, and then head out onto the east pier where others strolled, gathered for outdoor yoga or calisthenics, or joined in the Athosian traditions for welcoming the new day. Spencer hated the Athosian morning tea but was persuaded to trade a purple scarf for what seemed to be a subscription deal for a specialty baked goods of the week arrangement. He hoped the baker would continue to provide as much description as he did the first week about the calendrical significance and seasonal fruit involved in the current recipe. There were few things Spencer enjoyed more than food that was both educational and tasty.      

On his eighth morning in the city, after leaving the Athosian gathering, Spencer found his way back up the pier blocked by two young Marines. It wasn't clear if they were on patrol or headed someplace else. They stopped in front of Spencer and then shifted without saying a word when he moved to walk around them. "Can I help you?" Spencer asked.

"Yeah, doc. Got a question," the one on the right, with buzzed dark hair and deeply tanned skin, said.

"We wonderin' how a newbie like you gets the Colonel, McKay, and Beckett along on your first offworld," the one on the left, with short blond hair and pale skin, said.

"We were following up an investigation from Earth." Spencer watched for any signs of interest or comprehension and decided the goal of the mission wasn't what had the two Marines concerned. "Dr. Beckett was already involved on Earth. I believe the Colonel's team accompanied us because Dr. Beckett was going."

"Still seems you must have connections or dirt on someone to get sent here. We don't need a private cop." The blond one seemed to be the designated speaker. "We take care of ourselves out here."

"I'm not a cop." Spencer stood tall and tried to project confidence without challenging anyone's jurisdiction. It was a lot like dealing with the local police wherever his BAU team was called in. "I used to work for the FBI. When a case turned out to originate here, I was hired to fill a consulting detective position that the leadership on Atlantis had previously posted."

Before the Marines could voice their next objection, Teyla approached purposefully. "Dr. Reid, your presence is requested in negotiations at the children's center."

It was all Spencer could do not to gape at her. "Certainly. If you'll excuse me," he said to the Marines before turning to follow Teyla.

Once they were out of earshot, he said to Teyla, "I appreciate the assistance, but I could have handled those two."

"Any assistance would be from you to us. I am on my way to a parent meeting at the children's center. You were brought here partly to help with internal conflicts, were you not?" Teyla smiled in a way that didn't attempt to hide her multiple agendas. If anything, she looked a little smug about whatever she had planned.

"But I don't know anything about children." Spencer sipped his coffee and matched Teyla's pace without thinking about it.

"Dr. Beckett spoke well of how you handled the odd incidents with child victims on Earth. Your concerns for the young Uticas led us to find a group of grandmothers among their allies who are going to offer comfort and advice."

"Most kids don't even like me."

Teyla smiled the same way JJ had when Spencer raised such objections. The similarity stole his breath for a moment. "In this case, we are meeting with parents. Everyone involved, myself included, has knowledge of and biases regarding our own children and parenting styles. You will provide an independent perspective."

Spencer nodded mutely as he was led into a large room full of colors and busy children. She first brought him to a large tub full of water, floating toys, and foil boats. A preschooler with dark, curly hair and a broad nose, wearing something that looked like a yellow pillowcase with a belt, was carefully placing beads into a foil boat. When the boat sank, the child squealed and clapped.

"This is my son, Torren." The boy looked up at his mother's voice and then rushed over to hug her legs. Teyla petted his hair as she gestured to a dark haired man dressed in leathers who was rising from the floor beside the tub of water. "This is my partner, Kanaan. Kanaan, this is Dr. Spencer Reid."

"Pleased to meet you, Dr. Reid," Kanaan dipped his head.

"Please, call me Spencer."

Kanaan nodded again but was soon distracted as he and Teyla tried to resettle Torren at the water tub so they could attend the parent meeting. A young woman in sweats and a headscarf joined them as a boy in Spiderman pajamas dragged her over to the water. Soon Torren and the other boy were happily sinking boats and crashing rubber ducks. As the parents adjourned to a separate room, Spencer saw a woman with a broad cloth wrapped around her in a way that resembled an apron shift closer to watch the water play. He guessed she was a teacher.

The parents' meeting room, while less colorful than the children's area, had large panes of blue and green stained glass, high ceilings, and a series of low risers along all sides. The parents treated the risers like stadium seating. Over forty people sat chatting and sharing tea and coffee as Spencer's group entered.

"Sorry we were delayed," Teyla apologized to the group. "I brought our new Consulting Detective, Dr. Spencer Reid, to meet everyone and hear our concerns." A round of impromptu introductions circled the room. The parents included the ages of their children, what work they did, and what Earth country or Pegasus community each parent came from. Spencer hadn't realized there were so many children in Atlantis, let alone that their parentage was so diverse. Nearly half the parents in the room were Pegasus natives and two of the Earth couples had adopted Pegasus orphans who lacked local family or community.

Spencer was not surprised when arguing broke out over the teaching of written language, any academics including mazes or matching games, fieldtrips, and stereotypes. For a long time, he kept silent, observing and learning.

"They treat our children as stupid," an Athosian father said, "because they do not know Earth numbers and letters from home."

"My child reads Russian at home, but she is still learning English letters and numbers at school. I consider a bi-lingual upbringing an advantage," a mother who'd introduced herself as a chemist proclaimed.

"The school has books in many languages and will accept any that children bring or families make. Torren brought a book of plant pictures drawn by a cousin," Teyla said. Spencer was curious to see the book and the rest of the school library.

"Our people have never needed a written language. The ring translates what we say. To write in our own dialects is divisive," another Athosian said.

"My people have always taken turns leading small groups of children through what they could of each adult's work." The woman speaking was married to a Marine, but was the only representative of her planet on Atlantis. "I would gladly teach the older ones to weave on a loom. My husband could teach what the many titles used by military here mean and for the older ones teach about weapons or self defense."

"What do you think, Dr. Spencer Reid?" a male engineer from Earth partnered with an Athosian widower asked.

"I wish I could have gone to a school with so much diversity and so many parents who care about their children's education." Spencer would have left it at that, but everyone kept looking at him. "What I don't know is why you have to choose one thing or the other. I know there's only so much time, but if I were a child here, I would want to learn all the languages, spoken and written. There is evidence that children may absorb basic syntax, grammar and vocabulary for up to four languages if they are consistently spoken and rewarded with understanding by adults in their lives. As far as tagging along to learn about various people's work, I'd like to come too. Maybe I could find a way to teach some kids the basics of my work in behavioral analysis."

"I wish for my children to have your love of learning. How do we achieve that?" a Japanese engineer asked.

When Spencer saw she seriously expected an answer, he tried to think of one. "I haven't studied education, and I can't remember ever not wanting to learn. There was a year when I thought it was more important to keep quiet and follow classroom rules than to learn. It took a kind of bad experience to get me out of that, but I think I would have rebelled eventually. So far on Altantis, I see a lot of curious, dedicated people. I think if you let kids grow up around those attitudes, most of them will probably want to learn."

"And what about the disease you were brought here to study? Is it true it only affects boys?" Spencer couldn't remember if the explosives specialist asking had a daughter or a son.

"It only affects males, and it's not something a kid could catch by chance. You shouldn't have to worry about it here."

"You can't know that," said a mathematician with an Italian flag on her uniform and more than a little hostility in her voice.

"I could show you the geographic and probabilistic models I've worked out so far."

"Can the city sensors be programmed to detect it?" an Australian engineer asked.

"Not that I've heard, but that's probably a question for Beckett or McKay."

"Is there a cure?" an Athosian leather worker asked.

"And that's probably a question for Dr. Beckett, but I know he's working on it. This isn't really what you brought me here to ask about, is it?" Spencer watched the sea of faces, many of whom watched him as intently back.

"No, but we want to help. We heard what happened on Utica." One of the parents who wasn't from Earth or Athos said it, and Spencer was struck by an idea.

"Well, we don't want to spread panic or draw attention while looking into this. But some of you probably receive news from parts of Pegasus that Dr. Beckett or I know little about. If you hear anything suspicious, you could let us know."

The room at large agreed to pass on any information from family or contacts on other planets. They also decided Spencer should teach behavioral analysis for preschoolers. Spencer's mind raced with ideas for doing that before the meeting even ended.

After the meeting, Teyla led him back to the water table where Spencer was easily persuaded to help Torren build a foil boat to hold even more beads. When Teyla picked up a tablet and snapped a picture, Spencer asked, "Is there any chance I could send a copy of that to friends back home? They asked for pictures, one specifically asked me to write to his son, but most things here probably wouldn't pass the censors."

Teyla smiled. "I am familiar with the problem and know a Gate tech who specializes in fixing pictures to send home, if you ever need help. I will gladly send a copy of this to you and am happy for your friends to see how well you get along with children." Her smile was more of a smirk by the end, and Spencer thought she and Penelope might be able to take over both galaxies if they ever combined forces.

                                     #

Spencer was about to call it a night when Beckett summoned him by radio to his research lab.

"Hullo, Spencer, hope it's not too late for you?" Beckett sounded exhausted. His accent was stronger, and he was using Spencer's first name. It surprised Spencer how much he liked the familiarity. No one at the BAU except Gideon had called him that, and he'd had mixed feeling about JJ calling him "Spence."

"My curiosity wins out over sleep in most situations, but you sound tired. Do you need anything?"

"No, lad. I wanted to run my results by you. I know you don't have a medical background, but you seem to have picked up enough through your work. And I read your engineering thesis, which showed you had a fair amount of medical insight when you were what, nineteen?"

"Twenty by the time it was awarded." The title of his dissertation had been _Identifying non-obvious relationship factors using cluster weighted modeling and geographic regression_. It had included many medical examples, and several medical papers had later cited his work. But the follow up papers with him as first author had both related to geographic profiling. He didn't mention to Beckett that much of his earliest medical research had revolved around caring for his mother and aspects of her schizophrenia.

"Before we start, I have this for you." Carson pulled a small paper from the pocket of his white coat and slid it over. "The first group is specifically for those whose addiction started in a forced situation, mostly here on off-world missions. Dr. Morris, one of our civilian psychologists, says most of the attendees are military and many were forcibly addicted to the Wraith enzyme, which is no longer available, so that may not be the best fit for you. The second group is more general, a wider range of addictions and stressors. You'd be welcome to try both. Of course, Dr. Morris, without knowing who you are, wants me to urge you to schedule private sessions, at least for a while. But it's all entirely up to you, and I won't interfere or presume other than to follow your directive about narcotics."

Spencer folded the paper and placed it in his messenger bag. "Thank you, Dr. Beckett. This means a lot to me."

"Please, lad, call me Carson, at least when we're not in meetings."

"Thanks, Carson." Spencer closed his messenger bag, and just like that the subject was dropped.

Carson brought up a spreadsheet on one of his Ancient monitor screens. "Now, I know you've read some of the history of the gene therapies and genetic engineering developed both in Atlantis and in Michael's labs. The Ancients initially combined human and iratus DNA. My first attempt at a remedy leaned too heavily toward the iratus bug." He highlighted the first column on his spreadsheet and then worked his way across the rest. "This next variation counteracted the effects of John's exposure and proved surprisingly stable. Then we had the ill fated attempt that created Michael. That proved unstable for changing Wraith to humans, as did the aerosol version we later developed to pump into hive ships."

Spencer's mind filled with related statistics and facts from simpler genetics work undertaken on Earth, but those weren't the parts he wanted to ask about. "What I don't understand is how the Wraith became virtually extinct if your work stopped after the failed aerosol experiment."

With a long sigh, Carson slouched back on his lab stool. "The Wraith mostly died off while Atlantis was recalled to Earth for over a year. It's a mystery we may never solve. Atlantis returned to a galaxy where hundreds of Wraith had dropped dead in front of witnesses, people they'd meant to eat. Dozens of crashed and grounded Hiveships have been raided by the Travelers, and I've analyzed samples from several corpses. They all tested positive for the retrovirus variation we'd created as an aerosol, but I can't explain the vectors of transmission or how rapidly most of the Wraith appeared to die." Carson's disappointment and remorse seemed like a physical weight stooping his head and shoulders. "Most likely there was an interaction with some other vector, but we may never know. There were rumors about Wraith attacking Wraith and a purported cure, but most of the survivors won't talk. The few that are left were transformed to be almost completely human, aside from some compromise coloration. They can only eat the way humans do. Perhaps there was some sort of cure by the end. Nothing in this data can explain it."

Spencer nodded along and examined the notes Carson had arranged in each column, listing dosages, follow up care, side effects, and percentage of human and iratus DNA with a separate category for the Y-chromosome.

Taking a deep breath, Carson sat up taller on his stool. "While we were disappointed by our failures to turn the Wraith into humans, Michael made repeated attempts to engineer an entirely new species. He used the same vector and built on my work, but at some point he added in the work Dr. Keller did to stabilize me as a clone, other gene therapy research from Earth, and modifications to the Y-chromosome that I think may be drawn from his own mutated form. This is where I worry myself sick about unintended consequences. While Michael did not turn out as I intended from that retrovirus,"—he pointed to column three—"he reached an apparently stable form. Also, the work he did with his Athosian hybrids showed a level of intelligence and ingenuity I don't expect from most humans, let alone Wraith. I don't know if that was an effect of the therapy or individual variation. Michael may have had a mind suited to such work beforehand. Whoever developed the latest gene therapy is building directly on Michael's work and something else, possibly related to older Wraith experiments that gave humans like Teyla access to the Wraith telepathic network."

Spencer had read mission reports in which Teyla sensed nearby Wraith or was capable of influencing or being uniquely influenced by their thoughts, but the science behind it was all rather vague. There was a brief allusion to some long ago Wraith experimentation on Teyla's Athosian ancestors, but little about how her culture viewed such differences now or how widespread they might be in other populations. It did not take much reading between the lines to see her abilities had triggered security concerns and prejudices on Atlantis, and Spencer wondered if official reports had later downplayed select Athosian and Wraith mental powers. "You think Lt. Phillips and the boys back on Earth might develop telepathy?"

"Wraith telepathy is mostly a matter of sporadic shared perceptions, which can sometimes be projected as hallucinations. I don't understand the specific mechanisms involved, although I have a full sequencing of Teyla's and a few other Athosians' DNA."

"But there would still be huge variations within the Athosian population, not to mention the varied gene expressions throughout the body and multiple influences from proteins produced that we're only beginning to understand even in Earth humans," Spencer summarized. Carson nodded. "So why did you call me in tonight?"

"I knew you'd understand the limitations of my data and how preliminary this result is." Carson still looked hesitant to say what he might have found. Spencer figured it was his turn to nod and wait.

"The altered DNA in Dr. Phillips and the boys on Earth overlaps 99.2 percent with Earth humans and 99.4 percent if I add just Teyla, Kanaan, or Torren in with the Earth samples."

The silence that fell as Carson zoomed in on the relevant section of the spreadsheet was broken by a voice from behind them.

"Talking shop so late? I think 99.2 percent is pretty good." Colonel John Sheppard swept in right beside Dr. Beckett and slouched outrageously to peer at the screen as well.

"Earth humans share 96 to 98 percent of their DNA with chimpanzees, depending on how you measure," Spencer said. "Being of Eurasian decent, I may share 1 to 4 percent of my DNA specifically with Neanderthal or other archaic humans, but anything that shares 99 percent is definitely within the range commonly accepted as human."

"Amazing as that is," Sheppard said, and it was clear to Spencer that he hadn't told the Colonel anything he didn't already know, "I'm more interested in why Carson said 'or' when talking about Teyla, Kanaan, or Torren's DNA. That sounds like a pretty specific .2 percent, even if Torren is their kid."

The Colonel shifted to lean with his hip beside Carson's keyboard, his arm spread lovingly around an Ancient monitor. Spencer wondered if the man studied poses from magazines as a teen, because he certainly hadn't learned that body language in the military. His casual posturing was, nonetheless, a mask even more fundamental than the stance and tone he took when instructing the military. Beneath both was a locking down of emotion and expression that probably traced back to early childhood. Spencer would bet that Sheppard grew up wealthy and learned how to "behave" in public before he knew what it was to express himself. It could have been off-putting if the masks were used to manipulate and deceive. The intelligence barely hidden behind the masks clearly could have been a political or criminal force to reckon with, but Sheppard hadn't gone that route. How he'd ended up in charge of the military on Atlantis throughout every step of the expedition was hard to explain, and Spencer wondered what else Sheppard hid behind all his masks.

"Michael did not hide his interest in Torren's DNA or the 'gift' he presumably would share with Teyla and Kanaan." Carson faced Sheppard and placed his hand on the man's shoulder as he spoke. "We've done everything we could to prevent anyone else from taking even a sample of Torren's DNA. However, if whoever made the new gene therapy has access to the original research that added Wraith DNA to the Athosian gene pool, then they may have a pretty good guess what that .2 percent can do."

"And you list the Y-chromosome as responsible for the other .6 percent of the variation?" John asked without acknowledging any emotional reaction to Carson's words or touch.

"Basically, that's almost all an addition that matches Michael's own DNA. The Wraith Y-chromosome is significantly longer than that of humans," Carson said.

"You're saying his was bigger than mine?" Sheppard smirked.

Carson rolled his eyes.

Spencer volunteered, "The human y-chomosome has undergone rapid evolutionary deterioration and now contains less than 3 percent of the genes it shared with the X-chromosome 300 million years ago. In total it contains fewer than 80 functional genes."

"But the Ancients made the Wraith way more recently than that, so does that mean Michael's Y-chromosome was mostly bug DNA?" John asked with a grimace of exaggerated disgust.

"It's not as simple as that. Wraith DNA was always more than a direct combination of two species, and Michael's changed yet again with my treatment and the progression of his recovery and stabilization."

"So what are these new creations, let's call them Humans A-Y, supposed to do?"

"Humans A-Y?" Spencer asked.

"Humans with bits of Athosian and some bizarre Y-chromosome," Sheppard shrugged.

"Did you know that one of McKay's early scientific mission reports contains two lengthy paragraphs objecting to the way you named the Puddle Jumpers?" Spencer asked.

"Yep." Sheppard looked proud. "So, Humans A-Y are designed for what, telepathy and breeding with Wraith?"

"You know Wraith don't reproduce sexually," Carson said.

"The ones that are left eat like us. Makes sense they'd want other perks of being largely human." Sheppard smirked at first and then reverted to his earlier grimace. A moment of something beyond innuendo registered in Carson's reaction, but Sheppard continued, "You know, fascinating as this all is, Rodney sent me to collect you. He'll probably start squawking in our ears if we take too long."

Carson huffed as he started saving and closing files. "I suppose he couldn't come himself because his ankle is acting up after a long day of pacing and hunting down minions to berate in various labs."

John slouched lower against the desk. "He suggested we could bring him dessert as well. I think he's already taken as many servings as the mess staff would give him."

"I'll bring him a nice glass of warm milk." Carson shook his head in fond exasperation, and Spencer considered that Carson and Rodney might be lovers, but Sheppard's strange twist on innuendo and his role as go between made Spencer wonder if there was more to it than that. It was none of his business, but he liked the idea that any subset of the command staff could have some sort of intimate relationship and still be accepted in a quasi-military base. "Maybe we can meet with Woolsey tomorrow, to review some of this and our goals for the A-Y countermeasure."

The part of Spencer that enjoyed linguistics, noted how quickly Sheppard's term "Humans A-Y" had led to Carson coining "A-Y countermeasure." The sociologist in him noted that Woolsey was nominally the head of the expedition, but the heads of medicine, science, and the military seemed to consult each other and then merely inform him of their general conclusions. It seemed to work, but he wondered if Woolsey minded being the perpetual newcomer or if he'd done something to precipitate that structure.

Sheppard interrupted his thoughts saying, "Isn't the obvious goal to remove whatever made them Humans A-Y?"

"As I was telling Spencer, I'm leery of unintended consequences. Without fully understanding the purpose of the new DNA or the new proteins produced, it's hard to predict side effects. We still don't understand what happened with the aerosolized gene therapy that temporarily made some Wraith human then spread and killed almost all of them." Carson reached back toward his console.

"And we're not going to find out tonight. Let's compromise and get Rodney some hot chocolate before he throws a fit."

"If you insist," Carson said. Then he turned back to Spencer. "You don't mind continuing this tomorrow?"

"Could you send me the spreadsheet and your supporting data?"

"I'll send you some of it. I try to protect the privacy of individual genomes."

"More than fair. I don't think I have tools for processing that much data anyway."

"Oh, the Ancient systems can do it for you. I'll even grant you access to search for matches by population and percentage, in case you want to check my math or methods. That's part of why I called you." Carson sent him a quick message with links to data and personalized encryption keys before he finished shutting down his station.

Spencer glanced at his tablet wondering if there was a way to tell Garcia how far he'd been drawn in by Ancient technology without actually mentioning Ancients or where he was. "I'll see what I can do. Enjoy your hot chocolate."

"Oh no, it will be a nice cup of tea for me, but thank you. Good night."

"Good night," Sheppard echoed as he herded Carson out the door, his body language still controlled and not quite casual.

#

Spencer was sorting through Carson's work when his door chime sounded. He thought it open and turned to see Ronon with two steaming ceramic mugs.

"Here," Ronon said, holding one out.

Spencer stood and walked the two steps needed to take it. "Thanks," he said as he breathed the comforting smell of hot chocolate and was amused to see it even had whipped cream on top. "Did Carson send this?"

"Kind of," the big man shrugged. Even with his realization that Ronon was only two or three inches taller than him, Reid couldn't help noticing how big the man was, pretty much every time he saw him.

Spencer turned to take his cup back to his desk and noticed Ronon held his ground in the doorway. "Would you like to come in?"

Ronon made himself at home on the bed as Spencer returned to his seat at the desk.

"Carson's calling you Spencer now."

"Sometimes. I told him it was fine." Ronon looked like he was waiting for more, not something Spencer was used to. His old team usually acting like he talked too long and they were eager to jump in. "I think this is the first time I've heard you call him Carson."

Ronon nodded. He still didn't say anything.

"You're welcome to use my first name if you want."

"'Kay," Ronon said.

It occurred to Spencer that while he'd seen the name Ronon Dex in reports, he'd only heard people say "Ronon" when referring to the man across from him. He wondered if he should ask about Satedan etiquette. In some cultures the personal name was spoken after the family name. In some, family names were almost never used. Based on his earlier encounters with Ronon, Spencer felt he hadn't made a good impression. Now that the man was sitting in his room and had brought him hot chocolate, Spencer wished he had a primer on Satedan etiquette, or at least more observational data.

As he thought, Spencer took his first sip. The drink was rich, just sweet enough to show off the deep, dark chocolate without seeming bitter, and the whipped cream on top was heavy and hand whipped. "This is excellent hot chocolate."

"Picked up an espresso machine in San Francisco."

Until that moment, Spencer hadn't thought about the actual aliens stranded along with Atlantis after coming to Earth's defense. From what he'd read, Earth politicians had spent months arguing the future of the secret program while those involved with the expedition argued almost unanimously for their duty to Pegasus and to return to fight the Wraith. But Ronon hadn't belonged to any other community for eleven years at that point. He had been isolated for seven years as a Runner, his home destroyed and any person he interacted with endangered. Unlike Teyla who'd lived mostly among Earthlings for a year longer but maintained strong ties with her own people, Ronon had thrown his lot in with Atlantis rather decisively at a time when almost no aliens lived there. As Spencer realized how much Ronon's life must have changed since he'd left Sateda, first as a runner and then on Atlantis, he wanted to ask a million questions about acculturation and how much he identified with Earthlings or maybe Lanteans. Instead he asked, "You like hot chocolate?"

"Mochaccino's better."

"Mmm." They sipped in silence for a while, and Spencer's eyes drifted closed as he remembered the best two weeks of his life.

#

_Before his morning at the Rose Bowl Parade, Spencer had never heard of a mochaccino. After that, for him and Ashok, it was their drink._

_Ashok only had two weeks left with the Mathematics Sporadic Groups Project after New Year's._

_Spencer decided that was long enough not to count as a notch on the bedpost._

_Ashok said it couldn't possibly be long enough for all the things he wanted to share with Spencer. None the less, he tried. Not only did Spencer learn more options for gay sex than he'd imagined existed, Ashok took him to Disneyland, Hollywood Boulevard, and the La Brea Tar Pits on the weekends. Every night, he brought take out or took Spencer out to try a different kind of food._

_"I can't believe you've been here four years and never gone anywhere," Ashok teased him over dinner the last night. They were eating take out Indian food in Ashok's apartment because Ashok had only realized that day that Spencer had never tried it. "And how have you never tried curry?"_

_"Busy." Spencer said, swooping up some red curry with a piece of naan. "I couldn't even identify Indian people until I'd been here two years."_

_"Don't tell me you got us confused with Native Americans. I once told someone I didn't like Indian movies. She insisted on showing me her favorite, and you know what it was? An American Western."_

_"Which one?" Spencer asked around a bite of samosa. Samosas were his new favorite food._

_"Little Big Man. You know you're supposed to be outraged on my behalf?"_

_Spencer made the big eyes he knew Ashok couldn't resist. Ashok nudged his leg under the table. "Don't worry. I know you mean well. So how did you learn to recognize Indian people?"_

_"I was studying in the courtyard when some other students complained about the school's Philippine chefs' interpretations of Mexican food. They asked my opinion, probably looking for something new to pick on me about, but I was even more clueless then. I said I didn't know what nationality the chefs were or what most of the food was supposed to be. The guy questioning me asked if I knew what nationality he was, and I said I had no clue. He told me to guess, and I said, 'white.' Then everyone laughed at me, because he was Indian. His friend started talking about some other incident they both thought of as pathetic, where someone mistook him for Hispanic. I went to the library and found a book on composite drawing and facial feature templates and memorized it. I still had to learn a lot about accents and fashion trends to guess correctly even ninety percent of the time, and that includes being partially right when someone's mixed race."_

_Spencer looked up to see Ashok smiling at him and clearly not offended. "God, how I admire your memory and your creative solutions." For all that Ashok knew how to be charming, Spencer could almost touch the honesty and appreciation that radiated from him in such moments._

_After the many times that Spencer had been made to feel bad about his social skills, it helped to have one popular and attractive person who always took his side. He'd had no idea when he agreed to the two week fling that Ashok would show him more consistent kindness than anyone else he'd ever known. He knew it wasn't love, at least not on Ashok's side, but the acceptance and reciprocity was more than Spencer had experienced from anyone other than his mother. He felt a connection to Ashok that he didn't want to lose, even if only in his memories._

#

"Have you ever tried pakoras or samosas?" Spencer asked, pleased to see Ronon didn't seem to mind the lull in conversation.

"Don't think so."

"Anyone take you out for Indian food in San Francisco?"

Ronon shook his head. "Something called Indian yellow curry in the mess sometimes."

"Okay, I have no idea how authentic that might be. Do you like it?"

Ronon shrugged. "Think they hide stuff in it."

Spencer chuckled and got whipped cream on his nose. He wiped it off and took another long, warm sip. "Strange to you or to everyone here?"

"Diplomacy means trading for stuff the locals don't want."

"You hear that from McKay?"

"Sheppard."

"Well, I suspect many people in India, or maybe even more people of Indian descent in the U.S., would want the word Indian taken off whatever curry they're using to hide foods no one wants to eat. That said, I met an engineer while I was checking out the desalination plant."

Ronon raised an eyebrow as Spencer sipped his chocolate, perhaps wondering at the apparent shift in subject, perhaps wondering why Spencer would want to visit the desalinization plant. Spencer restrained himself from offering a cost benefit analysis of desalinization efforts on Earth. "His name is Amar Patil, and he was rhapsodizing about freshly cooked pakoras and samosas. I told him how I fell in love with Indian food during college, same month I learned about mochaccino, in case you were wondering. Anyway, he offered to teach me how to cook pakoras and samosas and make a couple chutneys for dipping. You could probably come if you want."

"Get to eat at the end?"

"Yes, that's part of the plan."

"I'll come."

#

The next morning Spencer skipped his morning walk to spend more time with the data Carson had sent. He was interrupted by a radio call. "Dr. Spencer Reid, this is Teyla. We have a situation at the Children's Center that may benefit from your particular skills. Could you please come immediately?"

Spencer had no idea what the situation could be, but there was only one reasonable answer. "I'm on my way now." He grabbed his tablet and his sweater and headed out.

When he reached the center, Sheppard was outside pointing and giving directions to military and civilians alike without a smirk or a slouch. He seemed busy and Teyla was the one who'd called, so Spencer made his way inside and found Teyla and a teacher standing in front of a dozen children who were sitting on a rainbow colored rug. "Can any of you tell me where Torren and Rat went?" Teyla asked.

The kids either stared or shook their heads. Teyla looked to Spencer and said, "Torren and his friend Rat snuck out of the center at least ten minutes ago, and we cannot find them in any of the usual places. Dr. McKay says there are no out of place life signs readings, so they are probably hiding in a cupboard or something in a place with other people. We have already checked every cupboard in the Center. I believe this is somewhat related to the sort of work you used to do?"

Spencer wondered how Teyla envisioned the work of the BAU or even the FBI. "Not exactly, but I could try."

"Any assistance would be appreciated."

Spencer looked at the eclectic group of children gathered round and realized he could combine his lesson on behavioral analysis with this chance to question possible witnesses. "Hi, kids. Teyla's given me a job to do as a behavioral analyst, but I've never done that job on Atlantis or at this Children's Center, so would you all be willing to help me?"

Most of the children nodded. Spencer made mental notes of their reactions, especially a couple who were looking away or sitting too still. "First, did anyone hear or see what Torren and Rat were doing before they left?"

Most of the kids shook their heads. One girl with a long face said, "They were getting something from Rat's cubby."

"Good, thank you. That's our first clue or profiling factor." The girl smiled showing all her teeth and double dimples on each side. "Does anyone know more?"

Looking around, Spencer saw a smaller girl with dark curls and lowered eyebrows pull her knees up and rest a hand holding her chin such that it also covered her mouth. Spencer walked over and knelt beside her, looking her in the eyes but keeping his voice soft. He was aware the whole class was watching, and he tried not to embarrass or scare her. "When people cover their mouth like that, if often means they want to say something. Maybe you're worried about telling on someone, and need to know it's the right choice. I'm here because Torren and Rat could be in danger. I will take full responsibility for anything you tell me that might help us find them."

The little girl's eyes got big and damp. Spencer hoped she wouldn't cry. He felt terrible when he made anyone cry, and this girl was tiny. "Magic," was the girl's first word. Spencer nodded and waited, trying to project calm and his confidence in her. "Rat visited his dad's home. Brought back magic in a jar." The girl held out one cupped hand, as if holding a small jar.

"Did you see the jar?"

She nodded.

"Would it fit in your hand?"

She nodded.

"Do you know want sort of magic was supposed to be in it?"

She shook her head.

"Can you tell me what the jar looked like on the outside?"

"Brown and red," she said.

"Did you see Torren and Rat leave with it?"

She nodded.

"Which way did they go?" Rather than pointing, she gestured with her chin toward the front door. Spencer had seen a few people on Earth do that, and he was glad to still be working with what could pass as Earth gestures, although he'd have to be careful of his assumptions.

"Did you see which way they went outside the door?"

She shook her head.

"Did you hear them say anything else?"

She shook her head.

"Thank you," Spencer said. "You've been very helpful."

Without standing, Spencer looked to the rest of the class. All eyes, including Teyla's and the teacher's, were on him. "Now this is very important, did anyone else see or hear about where Torren and Rat were going?"

Big eyes and head shakes abounded, and Spencer believed none of them knew anything more. "Okay, once again, I'm going to take responsibility for anything you tell me. These kids really could be in danger, and I need all your help in guessing where they might go. Has anyone ever gone someplace hidden with Torren or Rat before?"

Two kids raised their hands and another said, "The fish box."

Spencer pulled out his tablet and brought up the city map he'd been using. He asked the teacher, "Is there someplace I could project this?"

She pointed to a large white space on the wall and a small red counter next to it. "Set it here."

Spencer did so, and the map appeared on the wall. Spencer asked, "Can someone show me where the fish box is on the map?"

The boy who'd originally said it shook his head. The older girl with the long face who'd spoken before got up and walked to the wall. She picked up a black pointer and touched a spot. A red dot appeared on the projection. "Here, on the pier by the morning market."

Seeing she was confident with map skills and had correctly marked a point near where Spencer knew the Athosians gathered in the morning, Spencer said, "Good job. You can help me build a geographic profile by pointing out the spots that other kids name."

Spencer took suggestions from the children and saw Teyla standing off to the side, passing on information via radio. At one point, a student suggested the boys might have gone back to their own homes, and Spencer had the girl mark those with a little help from the teacher. "If you look at the map," Spencer said, "You'll notice the largest cluster of points you've mentioned are near this Children's Center, in what we'd call a comfort zone for all of you and also a spatial zone of opportunity. That's where we're most likely to find the boys. You also have small clusters around each of the boys' homes, the mess hall, and the morning market. All sorts of problems, whether you work with people, computers, or diseases, can be studied as clusters using math you might learn when you're older. What you're doing here is a basic version or what I sometimes do at work. It's called geographic profiling.

"Now we're going to try something called offender profiling. An offender is someone who's done something wrong, and usually we don't know who the person is. In this case, we know who the offenders are, and all they've done wrong is to hide and possibly put themselves in danger. What we need is a profile of where they feel safe or are willing to go by themselves. You're still my experts for this, because you know them better and are more like them than me based on age and your daily routine."

"Rat wouldn't be afraid to go to any of those places"—a large boy waved at the dots on their map—"but people might ask questions if he went far."

"Torren likes water."

"Rat likes food."

"He doesn't like the dark."

"They could climb under the pier. It's by the water but not dark."

Spencer looked to Teyla, who raised her eyebrows and spoke into her radio.

The kids kept making suggestions, but a minute later Teyla interrupted. "Thank you all. Torren and Rat have been found. Dr. Beckett is going to check them over and asked for Dr. Reid and I to meet him. Can you say 'goodbye' and 'thank you' to Dr. Reid for now?"

At the chorus of goodbyes and thanks, Spencer could only smile and wave.

As soon as they were outside, Teyla's expression turned from forced cheerfulness to pain. Spencer followed as she walked very quickly to the nearest transporter. "They were under the pier smearing something on their faces. Dr. Beckett is testing now to see if it is contaminated semen or just a very scary pretend game."

By the time they reached the infirmary, Beckett already had results on his Ancient monitor. One look at his face told Spencer it was bad. "I've cleaned the affected areas, but I want to put them both in stasis immediately to stop it from spreading until I know more."

Teyla nodded, "I trust your advice."

"Can I question them on the way there?" Spencer asked.

"You'll only have a couple minutes. The other family already agreed," Beckett said, already moving toward the boys' beds.

As Teyla rushed to her partner and child, Spencer approached what might be an Ancient variation on a gurney. The boy who must be Rat lay on his back, with two adults at his side who must be his parents. The boy's face looked freshly scrubbed, and there was a salty smell, presumably whatever Beckett had used for clean up. "I'm Spencer Reid. It's very important that I question Rat before he goes into stasis."

The dad looked to the mom, who was teary-eyed but said, "We understand."

"Hi, Rat," Spencer kept his voice calm and his eyes fixed on the young boy. "I really need your help. It's very important to help lots of other kids. I need to know where you got the jar you shared with Torren."

Rat looked to his dad. The boy seemed more concerned with his parents' distress than with any worries for himself.

"Tell him, <buzz>." The last word didn't translate, but Spencer could guess from the tone that it was a term of endearment, and the boy was clearly used to it. The dad projected calm as he spoke to his son, and Spencer knew he had to be careful what he said, as with the boys on Earth.

"Uncle Ton gave it to me. He said it was magic for me and my friend, Torren."

"Did he mention Torren by name?" Spencer asked.

"Yes."

"How did your Uncle Ton know Torren?"

Rat tilted his head and looked at Spencer with wide eyes, as if he never would have wondered about such a thing. "I don't know. I talk about him."

"Why did he want you to share what was in the jar with Torren?"

"He said it was friend magic. So we'd never be alone. Torren would never get mad at me." Now Rat looked like he might cry, and so did his dad.

"It's okay. I need you to tell me anything else your Uncle Ton said."

"He told me it was secret magic and needed to be put on our eyes, noses and mouths as soon as we could be alone together. Then I was supposed to throw the jar in the sea and never tell anyone."

"Did Uncle Ton touch your chest or say any special words?"

"I don't think so." Rat twisted his fingers together as he thought.

"Did he touch you anywhere else?"

"He carried and held me like he always does."

Beckett waved Spencer away from the table and wheeled Rat over to where a stasis chamber was waiting against a far wall behind a curtain. Torren was already sealed into a chamber beside it.

"Did Uncle Ton say or do anything unusual?" Spencer asked as he followed the moving platform.

"He said all our people would be happy together soon, including Torren."

"He mentioned Torren, but not your parents?"

Rat's eyes went wide. "I thought they'd always be with me."

Beckett waved the parents closer and said to Spencer. "We're out of time. Let the parents say goodnight, and then we're sealing it."

"He's afraid of the dark," Spencer whispered, in case it might embarrass Rat.

Beckett gave him a weak smile. "He'll see the light from this room until he's fully in stasis."

#


	3. Chapter 3

An hour later, Spencer was on his second off world mission. Rat's dad came from a planet called "Paca." He seemed to know nothing about the jar or its contents, but he mentioned that Ton had been quieter than usual when they'd visited Paca the day before. It turned out Ton was a second cousin once removed and not an uncle to Rat, at least in Earth terms. On Paca, Rat would refer to all men of a certain age as "Uncle."

When they stepped through the Gate, three large stone structures were visible. To each side was a step pyramid that appeared Mayan, based on Spencer's Earth knowledge. In front of them ranged a low stone complex, only one or two stories high. It had a flat roof like a shelf, and used external ramps or ladders instead of stairs to access the areas that had second story rooms. Forest encroached on all sides, but not the rainforests that Spencer would picture around such ruins on Earth. The dominant tree looked like a walnut, if walnut husks grew to the size of softballs. The planet's gravity seemed similar to Earth's, and if the sun seemed brighter, Spencer couldn't say equatorial or southern regions of Earth wouldn't be the same. He'd never traveled far from the United States before leaving his home planet.

Rat's father, Sut, said, "This is the ceremonial center. Ton's house and others are further out by the croplands." He waved past the pyramid to the right, and Sheppard walked beside Sut in the lead.

While Sut had come along as local guide and to gain the help of his relatives, Teyla had stayed back on Atlantis. The official argument was that she would help Lorne plan security for Torren and in case whoever developed the "magic" came after him. Unspoken was the risk that Teyla and Kanaan might be targets as well. McKay had begged off, citing his hurt ankle, but Carson had joined them in the hope that the locals would allow him to take blood samples or share other medical information that might help.

It took less than five minutes to walk from the ceremonial center to Ton's house. Along the way Sut pointed out the homes and farms of several cousin's and uncles and aunts, using the loose relationship titles of his people. A couple of kids, introduced as niece and nephew, joined them and asked questions about their weapons and Sheppard and Beckett's uniforms.

"Does Atlantis not trade with Paca?" Spencer asked.

Sut said, "My people limit trading to markets on other planets. You are here as my guests, to meet my family."

"That won't be a problem for anyone, will it?" Sheppard asked.

"There is no prejudice against outsiders. We keep business away from our homes. That is all."

Ton's house was one of three single room structures with wooden walls and thatched roofs that appeared to share a vegetable garden and backed onto forest. No one appeared to be home at any of the three houses, but Sut said, "The bachelors gather and hunt in the forest during the part of summer it is here. We can wait in Ton's house for their return. I will send my nephew for food and to invite other family to meet you." He waved to the boy who'd been walking with them, and both the boy and girl took off further down the path.

"We don't want Ton to avoid us if he hears of our presence," Spencer said.

Sut tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, "Why would he…" Then he paused, his mouth pursed, and his whole face wrinkled in what might have been distaste, but Spencer wasn't sure how much he could trust his body language and profiling interpretations so far from his own country and planet. "You fear he meant harm to Rat and Torren. This I cannot believe. But where would he run? To not return would shame his family and condemn himself. Please, come inside and rest."

Ronon said with a glance that he'd wait outside, as Sheppard, Beckett, and Spencer entered the surprisingly cool and tidy home. In a glance Spencer took in the room. A hammock hung on one side. A single grass mat covered a patch of floor the size of a couch on the other. Two large clay pots and a woven basket sat on the floor while smaller clay jars and dried gourds hung from loops on the walls.

"I'll fetch more sitting mats from Nana and Map's houses," Sut said.

"Let me help." Spencer insisted, even as Sut tried to wave him off. He needed to see the other dwellings to know if anything was missing or unusual at Ton's. It turned out Map was a bit of a packrat and wood carver, with tools, bits of wood, and other homemade items hanging from the walls or in a raised basket. Nana's home furnishings were as plain as Ton's.

With the two extra mats brought back to Ton's, almost the entire floor was covered. Sheppard and Beckett had settled beside each other on the original mat. The doctor seemed to be analyzing readings on a medical scanning device with no attention left to consider Sheppard's personal space. Sheppard ignored every time the doctor's arm jostled him. While his face showed no reaction to each random touch, Spencer thought the Colonel's failure to move even an inch farther away suggested he enjoyed their closeness, or was at least amused by Carson's inherent trust in him.

Sut's niece and nephew soon arrived with relatives introduced as Grandfather Po, Aunt Lulu, and Aunt She. They brought a basket full of food, and everyone only managed to fit inside Ton's house because the two children scurried up to share the hammock.

As they ate nutty crackers and fruit that smelled more than it tasted like plums, Dr. Beckett and Sut explained what had happened with Rat and Torren and how Atlantis had recently become aware of a new disease spreading around.

"Yeah, yeah," Aunt Lulu said immediately. "All three young men here, Ton, Map, and Nana, have been so antisocial, so <buzz>."

This time, Spencer focused on hearing the actual words beneath the translation, so he was able to ask, "That last thing, I don't think we have a word for it. It sounded like 'garoof?'"

Lulu laughed at Spencer's pronunciation, although he couldn't hear the difference when she repeated it correctly, even with the buzz gone after he had identified what she said as a word. "'Garoof' is off the path, losing oneself, lacking vital energy."

"Can you tell me what exactly they did that you saw as different?" Spencer asked.

Lulu tapped her fingers in a way Spencer read as nervous, but he was cautious of all his assumptions at this point. "Young men should not stay home so much alone. Many families welcome them for meals, to sing or talk in the evening. These three were quiet and did not laugh for eight or ten nights past. They left quickly and sat close to each other."

"Could any of the jars or gourds here contain medicine, or can any of you tell us what is in them?"

Grandfather Po rose from where he had squatted peeling fruit at one end of a mat. He lifted the girl from the hammock and told her to go fetch Healer Nok. "I will tell you what I can," he said, "but the healer will know the rest and if he has heard of any ills."

Spencer followed Po as he opened each container. He would look, smell, taste, or rub the contents between his fingers and then tell Spencer its purpose and name. It was challenging to take notes on items named in a language he didn't speak, but Spencer was fascinated by the elderly man's careful descriptions. The most amusing was, "Oil of Tackett, used on dry skin, especially edges at soles of feet—also good for leather scabbard for knife, to prevent drying and cracking—sometimes young men without women use it to lie together, to loosen one up and prevent tearing." It was convenient to have the information on a possible disease vector delivered without worrying about cultural taboos. Spencer figured he could wait and tell Carson later, as the doctor was busy taking blood samples from each person present and promising to let them know if he found any deficiencies or other problems as well.

There was only one jar with contents Po couldn't identify and thought might be medicine. The liquid inside was thin and green, so at least Spencer knew it wasn't semen. While Po gave a blood sample, Spencer asked the others about anyone else who might have spent time with Ton, Map, or Nana in the last month or two.

"None of them have traveled through the Ring of the Ancestors. Young men sometimes go at courting times, and I think they all went last fall," Lulu said. She'd answer every question if given a chance, but nothing about her seemed duplicitous to Spencer. "None of them are very interested in marrying off Paca or in trade or exploration. They were never the most curious of boys, but until recently they were boisterous and good company."

Healer Nok arrived then. He was built like Ronon and made the room seem crowded the moment he entered. His clothes looked clean and well mended, but he smelled like he'd been camping, like smoke from an outdoor fire. He wore a cloak the color of smoke with holes for his arms to pass through. "You are guests of Sut?" he asked.

"Yes, good Healer Nok," Sut stepped forward and made introductions. The healer seemed to study each of them as their names were given, and his study of Spencer took twice as long as the others. "And the guard outside the door?"

"That's Ronon," Sheppard said. Placing his hands on his hips in a pose that could be intended as casual or to make himself look larger, he said, "He's not a guard so much as someone who prefers to be outside where he can enjoy the scenery."

"Our scenery grows a bit hot by midday for most."

"To each their own." Sheppard shrugged. The healer paused and studied Sheppard again, possibly trying to make sense of the colloquialism.

Spencer brought over the jar of green liquid, "Grandfather Po"—Spencer nodded his head in the old man's direction as he'd inferred was expected here—"thought you could tell us if this contained medicine or if any of the three men who lived here had reported health problems recently."

The healer uncapped and sniffed the jar. His lips curled up at the corners. "It is nothing but a young man's frippery, they think the scent is pleasing and covers their smell between bathing."

"Have any of them had health problems recently?" Spencer prompted.

"Not that they've seen me about. Map is prone to rashes, but it doesn't stop him from touching everything in the forest."

"Have any of the young men or boys seemed quieter, antisocial, or 'garoof' to you?"

Lulu corrected his pronunciation of 'garoof' again, but the healer just shook his head.            

"Have you seen any symptoms that might only be affecting males in your community or any changes in behavior or activities?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Healer Nok said, studying Spencer's body language as if watching for tells, or at least that's how it looked to Spencer.

Spencer stood his ground and kept his voice as casual as he could manage. "Rat brought something back from here that infected both him and another boy with this illness we've just learned about. We would share with you anything we find that might help."

There was a long pause while the healer looked Spencer straight in the eyes. "Rat is strong and healthy. I'm sure he and the other boy will be fine. But I could show you a ritual place where the young men go, if that would help."                                                            

"That might be very helpful. Thank you."

Sheppard and Beckett moved to follow Spencer and Nok as they headed out the door. "No," the Healer said, "It is a place for young men. I go only as the ritual Healer."

"I am a healer among our people," Beckett said.

"No, not for this," Nok said.

"I'm the same age as Spencer," Ronon said from just outside the door. Spencer wondered how much of the discussion inside he'd managed to overhear.

The Healer stepped out into the full glare of afternoon sunlight and studied Ronon. "No, by our ways you are too old."

"How important is this, Reid?" Sheppard looked and sounded relaxed, but Spencer could tell by the tight muscles in his neck that he didn't want Spencer to go.

"I won't know until I get there," Spencer said. "Our original unsub did seem to be observing some ritual."  

There was a quick glance from Sheppard to Ronon. Spencer couldn't read anything from the bit he saw, but he'd guess one of them, probably Ronon, was going to try to follow Spencer wherever he went. "Okay, don't take too long or do anything stupid." Sheppard tapped a finger behind his ear as he said it, and Spencer understood the obvious reminded to use his radio if needed. He guessed the locals other than Sut might have no idea he even had a way to communicate across long distances, but once again, his local knowledge was sorely lacking.

He followed Nok's smoky cape through the woods. What started as a well worn path faded quickly to look like a deer trail. The Healer passed almost silently in handmade leather shoes. Spencer clomped along in the boots he'd been told to wear. For once, he hoped his clumsiness and noise would be an asset, making it easier if Ronon was trying to follow without being overheard himself.

He was caught completely by surprise when three men jumped him from the side of the path. Barely managing to keep his feet and dodge one kick, he was hit over the head from behind.

The next thing Spencer knew, he was being hauled over Nok's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He only knew it was Nok because few men in any galaxy were built like Nok and Ronon. Also, Spencer recognized the smell like a campfire and the cape.                                                            

Spencer's head swam and he could feel a migraine coming on, possibly from being hit in the head or from being dangled upside down for a fast hike through the woods. He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious but suspected he'd be sore from the carrying position if it had been more than a few minutes. His hands were dangling and tied with coarse rope. That made him two for two on getting tied up during off world missions.

Some of Spencer's hobbyist magic tricks had included escaping restraints. It was much easier with gimmicked restraints. His other option was to try to hit his radio without letting Nok know he was awake and calling for help. Without a locator or any sense of where he was, Spencer decided it would be better to wait on communication and try to work his wrists free while seeming to just bounce along. Luckily, the rope used was stiff and whoever tied him had barely mastered a square knot. By the time they stopped, Spencer had to hold his wrists together to maintain the illusion of being tied.

Healer Nok grunted as he slammed Spencer into a tree and pressed up against him. The bark behind Spencer's back was rough, and a quick glance up showed it to be the local variation on a walnut tree. Unfortunately, the bright sunlight seared through Spencer's aching head like hot pokers through his eyes. Closing his eyes tight didn't help as he saw lights like fireworks behind his eyelids and felt the snacks from earlier try to climb back up from his stomach.

Spencer attempted to breathe steady and deep through his nose to counteract the nausea. He slit his eyes open to learn about his surrounding, in case he had another chance to use his radio. At the moment, his hands were caught between the enormous healer and himself. A glance down showed that someone had taken Spencer's gun while he was unconscious. At least he didn't see it on Nok. Whoever had helped jump him seemed to be long gone.

Then Nok's voice echoed and distorted as the Healer whispered in his ear. "I heard you calling to me. Perhaps the order to catch Torren was meant to bring you to us."

As Spencer reeled from the whisper that sounded painfully loud and the pressure inside his own head, he realized two things. One was that they had never said Torren's name where Nok might have heard. The other was that Nok was fully aroused and grinding into Spencer's hip.

He wanted to be sick. This was much worse than having Hunt Leader fondle him inappropriately the last time he was tied up. Nok was a big man, and if Spencer didn't miss his guess, he meant to infect him with genetically modified semen one way or another.

Forcing his eyes open a little more, Spencer studied what probably was a ritual space. There was a burned out tree stump at least a meter wide in the center of a small clearing. The trees around it formed what some might call a fairy ring in a redwood forest on Earth. Part of Spencer's mind muttered comfortingly about how redwoods grew best from sprouts formed around the base of a mature tree, leaving what some called a fairy ring when the older tree died. The ring of trees here probably formed around the branches and shade created by a once massive tree.    

Glancing up as Nok rutted against him, Spencer could see two branches splitting off from the trunk he was pressed against. With one good jump, Spencer might be able to grab a branch and swing his way up. Then he'd have to pull up to the next level of branches before Nok could grab his feet.

It would have challenged Spencer's coordination on the best of days. With what was definitely a migraine forming and possibly a concussion, Spencer would be lucky not to black out. But he didn't have a better plan. He let the Healer rub against him and waited for a chance to move his hands and jump.

It was hard to keep his eyes open. The light stung. His head throbbed. Blurry images of a barn, dogs, and Tobias Hankel flashed in front of him. He tried to keep part of his focus on the unpleasant reality of Nok trying to rape or at least infect him. Part of him was caught in the past, another time he'd rushed to follow a lead and ended up captured and bound. Hankel had gotten him addicted to dilaudid cut with some psychedelic that plagued him with flashbacks to his mother. Before the migraines, that was the most terrified he'd ever been of becoming schizophrenic like his mother. Superimposed on sexual violence intended to spread disease, it was more than Spencer wanted to handle.

But he had to stay aware—fight the visions—wait for his chance.

Finally, Nok was grabbing for the laces on his pants. Spencer could yank his hands free, but he was still pinned by the larger man's groin and thighs. He waited.

The second Nok stepped back to free his cock, Spencer threw himself up into the tree. His hands grabbed a branch and his legs caught the next one over even as his head seemed to split apart. Forcing his eyes open Spencer clawed his way to the next branch up, out of reach from the ground. He knew he had to get higher. Luckily, the branches grew closer together even as each one became thinner and weaker than the one below.

Spencer's head echoed with the roar of the Healer beneath him. His vision swam with the light through leaves up above. All he could think was "up." He climbed until he reached a branch that swayed under his weight. Wrapping his legs around the wider center of the tree and sitting on one weak branch with a tight grip on another, Spencer tapped his radio and said, "Ronon, Sheppard, Beckett, I need help."

He couldn't hear an answer—wondered if he was using the radio right—worried that he was out of range.

Not having much more of a plan, Spencer gave what information he could. "I've climbed up a tree by what might be a ritual circle. There's a ring of something like walnut trees around an old burnt out stump. Nok is at the bottom having a fit. He knew Torren's name. I think he was planning to infect me. I was hit on the head and don't really know where I am."

Spencer didn't know what else to say. He didn't hear any reply.

Below him Nok was trying to climb the tree. It looked like he'd taken the time to mostly tie his pants closed.

It took most of Spencer's attention to keep himself from falling, but he peeked through slit eyes and found a clump of almost walnuts hanging near him. He grabbed one and shouted down to Nok, "You're too big to climb this high, and I'll pummel you with nuts if you try."

Nok growled. "This will be good for you. You'll never be alone again."

The words reminded Spencer of what they'd pieced together about the first unsub's ritual. Trying to find words and play for time was something Spencer could do with his eyes closed. Literally. "You'd have to convince me. Right now, I'd jump to my death rather than let you touch me." Spencer told himself it wasn't true and mostly believed himself. He wanted even more to believe he could talk his way out of this.

"You'll be so strong. With other minds like ours. Never alone."

"What do you mean by 'minds like ours?'"

"The world pulls at us, demands our healing, tugs at our emotions. We are gifted and unique, but so alone, so plagued by old ghosts and the needs of others."

Spencer told himself it was like reading a horoscope. This man knew nothing about him. He had no inside track to Spencer's emotions or alienation. But it was the second time he'd mentioned someone pulling. That with the mention of ghosts brought back the pain and fear of a previous migraine. A phantom voice said, "Your head is splitting because it's full of ghosts." It had been Julio that time, seeming to know too much about Spencer, singling Spencer out as the one he would speak to. He'd seemed to see too far into Spencer even before the episode of transpossession where he claimed spirits were causing Spencer's headaches.

Spencer saw a flash of white, like a thin white animal on the tree branch below him and hoped he wasn't hallucinating the way he'd seemed to in Miami. Another flash of light colored fur, and he thought he'd seen something like that during his most recent headache in Cascade.

The world around Spencer was becoming a slideshow of disjointed scenes. He clung to the tree and feared for his sanity. Glancing down, he saw Healer Nok grabbing for the branch below him.

Spencer threw the nut in his hand and instinctively grabbed for another. He had no idea if the first husk encrusted nut even hit Nok, but he heard the man gasp.

Risking another look down, Spencer saw the pale, fur covered animal clearly. It looked a lot like a ferret. The ferret's mouth was open as if it was hissing down at Nok.

Spencer couldn't hear the hissing. He only heard Nok muttering, "I mean you no harm. We need ones like you."

The words pounded through Spencer's head. At least they weren't echoing now. While his vision was still blurred, it looked like Nok was backing down the tree. He was being forced back by a ferret that Spencer was pretty sure must be a hallucination. Except Spencer refused to believe he was mentally ill. He rubbed at his eyes and told himself distorted vision was a physiological symptom of his migraines.

He didn't notice that Nok was gone. He didn't notice the almost silence of the woods until he heard two voices, both male, approaching.

Clinging to his tree, eyes mostly closed, Spencer heard:

"The Healer told us to join him here."

"He must have heard us fighting the other one and gone on to <buzz>." Spencer tried to remember the word underneath, something like "topiath."

"It's not time yet."

"Plans change. Someone is keeping the boy, Torren, from us."

"They won't cast us out. Never alone."

"I'd settle for Healer."

"We'll find him at topiath."

Spencer tried to see but couldn't focus on the two indistinct figures leaving the clearing. He thought they might be holding hands.

The next thing Spencer knew, there was a too loud voice in his ear. "Where are you?"

He nearly fell. Perhaps he made a noise. A moment later Ronon was standing beneath his tree, right where Nok had pressed against him. He recognized Ronon's voice, quieter now, not right in his ear.

"Spencer, climb down."

"Not sure I can." Spencer didn't want to explain. Not the migraines. Not the way he let himself get knocked unconscious. Not the way he let the Healer get away.

"Try. I'm too big."

Spencer wanted to cry or laugh hysterically. Unlatching his legs from around the tree was the hardest thing he could do. But he did it. Reaching out blindly with legs and arms, Spencer felt his way down the tree. At the bottom branch, the one he'd somehow jumped to before, he was caught in a wave of dizziness and almost fell.

"Hang from your arms," Ronon said.

Spencer swayed as he lowered his feet down, slid slowly from his stomach to his armpits.

"Gonna grab you. Don't kick."

The warning was enough to freeze Spencer in place. He didn't kick. It was good that Ronon grabbed him from behind. That was different. And Ronon smelled like leather, not at all like campfire smoke.

"Let go." When Spencer didn't, Ronon said, "I've got you."

Spencer let go. Ronon slowly lowered him until his feet touched the ground, until his weight settled on his feet.

"Can you walk?"

Spencer was taking his first step when a voice shouted in his ear. "We're over you with a jumper. Is it safe to land in the clearing?" Spencer had the radio off his ear and wrapped in his hand well away from his face by the time Sheppard finished speaking and Ronon answered.

Spencer let himself be led up the jumper ramp and into a careful sitting position on a bench in the back.

"Let me give you something for the pain, lad." Carson was easy to identify without opening his eyes. "Anything other than the head wound?"

"Wait," Spencer said, "Is Sut here."

"Yes!" Sut shouted.

Spencer raised his hands to his ears, then lowered them. He realized his radio was still wrapped in one fist and that he hadn't opened his eyes. "What is 'topiath?'"

"Topiath means a designated gathering place. Around here it usually means the community topiath at our ceremonial center."

"By the Gate?" Sheppard asked.

"Yes."

"Are there others?" Spencer asked quietly, his voice still too close and loud in his own head.

"They could have agreed to use anyplace as topiath. Do you know who they were gathering?" Sut asked quietly.

"I heard two men talking after the Healer left. One said, 'He must have heard us fighting the other one and gone on to topiath.' Later, the second man said they'd find the Healer at topiath. He was originally supposed to meet them in the clearing where he left me."

"What made him leave?" Ronon asked softly.

Spencer slit his eyes open as he thought of the small ferret-like apparition that had defended him. "Maybe he heard the fighting. Did they attack you, Ronon?"

"Yeah, I took one. Got shoved in a snare. Lost a couple minutes."

"Better let me check you over as well," Carson said.

"After the mission," Ronon muttered and pulled a hand across his chest sideways.

It was a gesture Spencer hadn't seen before but his head hurt too much to think about it further. Spencer clutched his hands on his thighs to keep his head and body still.

"I don't think they'll be at the ceremonial center topiath," Sut said, even as Spencer felt from the Jumper that they were landing. There wasn't the cessation of motion that Spencer expected from planes or even elevators. He felt it like he felt the city doors lock and unlock. It didn't even bother his headache.

"Got a better idea?" Sheppard asked from the pilot seat.

"Probably someplace known only to them. People here would say 'the topiath' or specify if they meant this one."

"Might as well check it out while we're here," Sheppard said.

"Lend me some sunglasses?" Spencer asked.

"You'll be staying with me, son." Carson took hold of Spencer's shoulder. He was gentle, but it was hard not to tense in surprise.

"Ronon, I'll cloak the jumper. You stand on the ramp within the cloak. From there you can watch the Jumper, the Gate, and the exits from the ceremonial center."

Ronon grunted.

As the others left, Spencer asked Carson, "How did the Jumper get here?"

"Lorne's team brought it along with another medic. They're questioning the whole community and taking blood samples."

"What about the person Ronon took out?" Spencer asked.

"They'll get a blood sample." Somehow Spencer knew from the tone that the man was dead. He wondered how Ronon felt about that and if he'd killed him because he was in a hurry to reach Spencer.

#

The Atlantis door chime seemed to adjust to barely audible in deference to Spencer's headache. He still wished no one would bother him.

Carson had been kind enough to let Spencer return to the quiet darkness of his room. Thinking there was a good chance it was Carson or other medical personnel at his door, Spencer gave the mental command to open. The light from the doorway across his closed eyelids was enough to make him shift his head aside. Shifting hurt too.

He heard, or maybe felt, the door close. Then Ronon's voice said quietly, "Think I can help."

Knowing it wasn't anyone medical, Spencer opened his eyes and tried to sit up. No matter how much it hurt to move, lying on his back felt too vulnerable.

"Don't." A heavy hand held his shoulder down.

In the dimly lit room, Ronon was only a large shape looming over him.

"Trust me."

Spencer's eyes watered. He couldn't stop it.

"Above here." Ronon held his free hand sideways, marking a line high on his own chest in what might have been the universal sign for "nothing below the collar bone" if there was any need for a universal gesture meaning such a thing. As part of Spencer's mind took off on a tangent about how "universal" really could mean "universal" once people from multiple galaxies were involved, he tried to reign himself in.

Spencer didn't think he could deal with any touch right now. He wasn't up to arguing either.

"Where were you hit?"

Spencer moved a hand to lightly hover over the warm bump on his head.

Then Ronon sat at the head of his bed, pressed tightly against the wall. His fingertips slid through Spencer's hair, carefully avoiding the lump he had pointed out. At first Spencer was tense and his mind swirled with ways to defuse the situation, to politely tell an alien that this sort of thing wouldn't work on a migraine.

Except it did.

Ronon's fingers circled back from Spencer's temples to behind his ears, and for a moment, the pain faded. The analyst's eyes closed. He sank down into his bed and gave up on explaining or understanding. The throbbing—nauseating—piercing—ache receded.

Nothing had ever helped before.

"Trust me," Ronon had said.

Spencer did.

By time Ronon spoke again, Spencer had lost track of time. He thought he might have dozed.

"Gonna loosen your neck. Say if I need to stop."

One warm, giant hand slid to cradle Spencer's long neck. The finger tips at the base dragged slowly up past his hairline and back down again.

"It's good," Spencer said, "but I don't know why you're doing this."

"Melena said headaches like this need care and connection."

"Migraines?" Spencer asked.

"Takes out your senses. You're too alone."

"Was Melena a Satedan?"

"Yes."

"I guess she knew more than all the doctors I spoke to on Earth. They tried to tell me it was psychosomatic." Then, suspended in the strange space of only touch and not pain, Spencer said, "I worried I was going crazy. My mother suffered from paranoid schizophrenia my whole life. It's hard for me to deal with things others can't see and confirm."

"Like the long beast with the white head, black eyes, pink nose, yellowed fur along legs very short compared to its body?"

Spencer froze.

"Relax. I saw it. That's why I'm telling you."

"It didn't look real," Spencer managed to say. He tried to relax, but his eyes and forehead were tight and hurting again.

"We call them spirit animals. Some people with gifts can see them. Yours helped me track you after I destroyed the snare. What's your animal called on Earth?"

Spencer's aching head reeled. He remembered Sandburg speaking about spirit animals or animals as a representation of a spirit plane. But he was talking about Guides and Shamen. Even if Spencer had briefly entertained the notion that he might be a Guide, that wouldn't explain Ronon seeing his—He cut his own thoughts off, not willing to think that hard for once. "A ferret."

"That what scared Nok away?"

"Yeah, I guess. So he could see it, too?"

"Probably, healers often have gifts."

"He said we were gifted and unique. Michael is reported to have said something like that about Teyla and Torren."

"Different gift. They can sense Wraith telepathy."

"You know a lot about this."

"Should know more."

"How so?"

There was a long silence. Spencer realized he'd been conversing with Ronon, a silent stranger he barely knew. That stranger was sitting on his bed, stroking fingers through his hair. A man who barely talked had helped Spencer back to being able to talk. Being able to think.

Spencer's mind swarmed with questions and follow up about what happened on Paca. But he bit his lips and waited for whatever Ronon would say.

"Healer Nok said I wasn't as young as you. Far as I can tell, I'd be 33 in your years. But my people would count the seven I spent running differently. They'd count my <buzz>"—Spencer hear the alien word "suss" behind the buzzing sound and wanted to immediately add it to the notebook he was keeping—"age at 26." Ronon swallowed before continuing. "My people had a way of sharing more as we grew older, every four or so of our years, which are a little longer than yours. I had only finished my fourth sharing before my people were destroyed. They didn't tell youngsters too much about gifts or other markers to keep us from limiting ourselves. I should have known more by now, even with my lower suss age."

Spencer was struck by how much Ronon had lost. How much he'd just told Spencer. And he realized that Ronon played with people's perceptions much the way that Spencer did, letting them underestimate him.

"Thank you." Spencer let the silence stretch for a moment. "I have no idea how to respond. People at my old job would tell you I'm socially awkward. Here I'm way out of my depth, not knowing your culture, not understanding this situation."

"Enough for now. Rest."

Spencer didn't think he could. His mind swirled with questions about what Lorne's team had found, whether Nok had been caught, why Ronon had opened up to him about gifts and his people.

Ronon's hands worked into his neck and the tense spots that joined neck to shoulder. Spencer couldn't help but relax. As he relaxed, the fingers in his hair felt even better, soothing him until he fell asleep.

#

The next day in the conference room with the strange triangular table, Spencer sat down carefully. His migraine was completely gone, but that and the head injury left him a little off balance and wrung out. The meeting included Woolsey, Lorne, Sheppard, Beckett, Teyla, Ronon, and McKay, who as usual was busy working electronically. Spencer wished he'd had more opportunity to talk with Ronon. He needed to know what he could say about gifts or even spirit animals. He thought about passing a note, but he didn't even know if Ronon could read, let alone read English. It seemed unlikely. Even if the man could, he might not want others to know. Spencer resigned himself to playing those cards close to his chest until he could learn more.

Woolsey opened the meeting. "Dr. Beckett, could you begin with a medical update?"

"Certainly. The blood tests taken on Paca successfully identified two infections with the exact genetic variant detected on Earth. The samples were from Healer Nok, who escaped, and Map, whose sample was taken post mortem. The Paca people allowed us to take Map's body as amends and in hopes of finding a cure. With Ancient facilities, I was able to keep some organs and processes functioning to allow medical scanning and a trial of my A-Y countermeasure. The treatment has successfully interacted in all bodily tissues including the brain. I plan to submit documentation and samples through the SGC for emergency trials on Earth. We have three known pre-pubescent cases on Earth that will need confidential clearance for medical trials through the United States Center for Disease Control."

"And the boys in stasis here?" Woolsey asked softly without looking at Teyla.

"We have two options here because the boys were put in stasis so early," Beckett said calmly, ticking off alternatives on his fingers. "The first option uses scanning mechanisms in the stasis chambers to target cells infected with the changed DNA. Most of the affected areas are topical on the face and nasal cavity but there are some that passed into the brain and bloodstream. Killing those off would be within the range of a natural response to frostbite, sinus infection, and meningitis. There could be some scarring, but we could treat that to be almost completely invisible by adulthood. Odds of lasting brain damage are very low."

"With meningitis, 13 percent of patients experience behavioral or psychological problems, 10 percent have some long term hearing loss, 6 percent report ongoing fatigue. Is that comparable to what you'd expect here?" Spencer asked.

Beckett waved a hand in Spencer's direction but didn't meet his eyes, "I'd like to believe we can do better than that, at least through treating any aftereffects using Earth or Ancient technology. But I can offer no statistics, no comparison cases."

"You said there was a second option," Teyla prompted, shoulders back, with a forced calm that reminded Spencer of his BAU team.

"We could keep Torren and Rat in stasis until the countermeasure is fully tested on Earth or elsewhere and determined to be safe. But the way the American CDC works, and given the non-lethal nature of the alteration, that could take years. The psychological consequences to reintegrating with their peers and community at that time could be worse than the statistics Dr. Reid quoted for meningitis."

Teyla nodded. "And if the boys received the current treatment immediately, before you receive approval from Earth?"

Carson's face went cold. It was the first time Spencer had seen the doctor so stripped of emotion. Dr. McKay's eyes immediately fixed on the doctor, redirecting the intensity he'd focused on his tablet to a furrowed brow focus on his friend. "You saw my failures with Michael and Hoff. Would you want your son to be the first to try such a new therapy?"

"Carson Beckett," Teyla waited until the man met her gaze, "You are a good man and a good doctor. I trust your work, and I need your most honest assessment on behalf of my son and his friend. In the cases you mention, you were trying to create something new that had never existed before. In this case, you are attempting to return humans to their original state. What is your best assessment of the actual risks?"

Carson's fingers clenched tighter around the tablet in his hands. "I don't know. The risks should be minimal, but I cannae treat your child with less care than would be allowed on Earth. I cannae atone for mistakes I made in the past." The look of pain that crossed McKay's face as he listened would have silenced anyone who called the scientist heartless. Only Sheppard and Lorne kept their emotions hidden as Carson pleaded with Teyla. "I still don't understand what happened to the Wraith affected by our last retrovirus. Many Wraith died directly. Others became genetically unstable, passing back and forth between human or hybrid states before dying. I have no idea what later interaction eradicated the species, leaving the very few that survived to become almost human. Without proper trials, the possibilities of any intervention are difficult to predict. The boys here currently have minimal exposure. But if my treatment missed even a single infected cell, the variant could spread from there. We have no experience with such things on Earth."

"Actually," Spencer sat forward and said, "There are many chimeric individuals on Earth. As a mother, Teyla has a 50 to 75 percent chance of maternal-fetal microchimerism in which she carries fetal immune cells from Torren. Researchers at Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center have reported finding male cells from former pregnancies in the brains of deceased mothers. At this time, no link to autoimmune or other conditions has been proven. This suggests that a few altered cells remaining in the brain or anywhere other than the germ cell line should have no greater impact on Torren than his fetal cells may have on Teyla. The only difference would be if the carrier virus can still actively spread altered cells."

"The carrier retrovirus is the same one I've used for the treatment and has been previously approved on Earth." Carson's face was coming back to life as he thought through his alternatives again. "If the scanning systems in the stasis chamber only targeted the retrovirus base, we could in theory stop the initial spread and my therapy should easily replace almost every instance of changed DNA. We might even rework the technology for distribution on Earth to safeguard gene therapies there. I'll need at least a week to test this. I can use the Paca corpse for the first trial."

"What about Phillips?" Sheppard asked.

"He's in the same sort of stasis chamber." Carson tapped at his tablet. "In theory, the same treatment could work. But with his brain compromised by the virus, he cannot give consent."

Spencer thought about the dead test subject, Map, whose one room house had been filled with crafts and carving materials. Map had probably been Reid's age or younger, still young enough by Paca standards to run wild with his peers, hunting and gathering in the woods, enjoying sex with other young men. Then Map had been infected and killed. His legacy would be helping to develop a treatment. Spencer remembered his brief interaction with Phillips in a small living room in Cascade, Washington. "When captured on Earth, Phillips said he wanted to turn it off. That's probably as close to consent for treatment as he could give at the time."

"That's not enough," Carson said.

Woolsey tapped his fingers on the table. "His transfer back to Atlantis reinstated Lt. Phillips in the military. Whoever had his medical proxy here should be presented with full details to make the decision."

"That would be his Gate team leader," Spencer said. "I interviewed him my first day here. He had no idea how Phillips became infected, although some interaction on Utica now seems likely, presuming the contagion was present a few days before the men's ritual. Did anyone find out how the men on Paca became infected and how Torren was targeted?"

"Major Lorne, for those not present at your debrief, could you summarize your findings?" Woolsey asked.

"By all reports, sir, the Healer was the only one of the four known cases to have traveled off world. Rat's family was the only recent contact the other three had from outside the community. We confirmed a list with multiple sources of all planets the Healer was known to have visited in the last two months."

"Could you send me that list?" Spencer asked. "I want to compare it to places Phillips visited before leaving Atlantis."

Sheppard nodded to Lorne and said to Spencer, "You'll keep us posted?"

"I'd have to if I want to visit another potential crime scene," Spencer said.

Sheppard smiled at his bit of cheek. "I'm starting to think you're more of a target off world than McKay."

"Hey," McKay waved both arms above the tablet he'd just returned to using, "I'm the one rewriting the Gate protocols to alert for even a sample of infected DNA coming though in the future."

"And until Reid arrived, you were voted most likely to be captured off world three years running."

"At least they wanted me for my brain. And two points isn't enough to assess probabilities," McKay said with barely a glance up from his work.

"So you think I should approve his off world missions to see if he keeps getting tied up and dragged off?"

"Better him than me," McKay muttered.

Spencer laughed. It was clear to Spencer from McKay's bluntness and distraction that he meant no harm. Spencer was surprised at the way Sheppard and Beckett glanced at him and then smiled at each other, as if they weren't used to others appreciating McKay's snarky nature.

As Woolsey dismissed the meeting, Spencer was glad to see Beckett, McKay, and Sheppard all leave together, especially with how upset Beckett had been earlier. Realizing that Ronon hadn't said a word or even reacted much to the proceedings, Spencer lingered in hopes of talking to him, but the confusing man took off with Teyla instead.

#

Spencer didn't see Ronon again until the next night when they met for Amar Patil's cooking class. Spencer led Ronon to a kitchen at the end of a residential hall where a small group of people were already sorting out ingredients.

"Spencer!" Amar greeted him from across a full counter, "And Ronon! You may not remember me, but you can call me Amar. Spencer and I had one conversation about favorite comfort foods, and suddenly I'm teaching Atlantis' best and brightest." Amar smiled at his own joke, and Spencer wasn't sure how to take it. The squat man continued in a melodic voice that seemed twice his size, "You probably all know Sakish, from the mess hall."

"Amar has promised to show me there is more to Indian cuisine than curries." The young Athosian man with tiny braids holding back his hair dipped his head.

"And these are Mila and Shivonne from botany." The botanists still wore their science uniforms, which identified them as American and French citizens, respectively. "I invited Ed from down the hall, but I think he forgot. Anyway, I requisitioned a ton of Earth ingredients. If there's extra we can leave it as hall food. It's sort of like being in college, and at least half of why people move to the halls with communal kitchens. Speaking of which, I should probably say upfront that I only lived in India until I was eight, then my family moved to London, and in my twenties I moved to the States. But my parents both grew up in India, and my mom taught me how to make all these unhealthy snack foods. So let me take you to the dark side of Indian cooking." Amar steepled his fingers beneath his chin and wiggled his fingertips in a way that made everyone laugh except for Spencer and Sakish. While Spencer knew such body language usually implied confidence or superior knowledge, he guessed there was a more popular reference, or several, he was missing. The analyst was used to missing humor based on apparently common cultural references, no matter how many other interpretations he knew, and in this case he was quietly amused that Ronon clearly knew the trope he'd missed.

Amar quickly set them to work boiling potatoes and peas, mixing samosa dough from maida flour and carom seeds and pakora dough using chickpea flour, coriander, and chili powder. "Pakora, or pakoda, as my father called them, are often served to children during cold weather. I had them with coconut chutney for tea growing up. But today we're making green chutney and tamarind chutney, which is especially nice with the samosas. I'm vegetarian, so I'll show you cauliflower and onion as well as plain pakoras, but everyone I knew in the states liked chicken pakora best. I'll leave that as a follow up exercise for you carnivores."

"The chickpea flour is not part chicken then?" Sakish asked.

"Nope," one of the botanists, Mila answered. "It's not really a pea, either. In the states we call the same thing a garbanzo bean, but beans and pea are both legumes, so it's close enough for government work."

Sakish smiled at Mila with very wide eyes. "I have worked with garbanzo beans before, thank you."

"Just to make it more confusing," Amar added with a smile, "most people in India and other parts of Asia call them gram, especially when talking about the flour."

"It's also gluten free and higher in protein than any other flour," Spencer put in.

Discussion centered mostly on ingredients and descriptions of plants, cooking, and farming as they worked. Sakish and Ronon turned out to be the best as shaping semicircles of dough into samosas.

Sakish said, "It seems odd, since we are the ones not from Earth."

"But I can tell you're both good with your hands," Amar said flirtatiously.

At the same time Spencer said, "It's not like I've been to India."

"You have so many different kinds of foods," Sakish said. "It is like each of your countries is a different planet."

Other than Vatican City, each country on Earth had a greater population than any Pegasus planet Spencer had researched, which was a chilling fact if attributed to Wraith influence. Spencer decided not to mention it. "While I've barely left the States, half the restaurants I go to are run by someone from another country." Spencer pinched closed a gap on the lopsided samosa he was shaping. "We also have Native American tribes and people in Texas or the South who maintain food traditions that differ significantly from the rest of the country."

While the two aliens took in Spencer's explanations, the other three expedition members from Earth were all staring at Spencer.

"You've never left the US?" Shivonne finally asked.

"Well, technically I've crossed the border into Canada and Mexico, but basically, not until I came to Pegasus."

"Why not?" Shivonne's eyebrows had risen in surprise as if she'd never met anyone so untraveled, but that seemed unlikely. Perhaps it was just unusual on Atlantis, or among the scientists she'd met on Atlantis.

"I never had time. While I was a student, I could barely make time for conferences where I was delivering papers, and I had to turn down one I very much wanted to attend in Rome. After that I worked for the FBI, which is primarily domestic, except for the two cases where we were invited across the border."

"You sound like a Marine. Most of them never left home until they signed up."

"My work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit in the FBI took me to a different part of the country practically every week. It let me see a lot of different lifestyles and communities within the United States. Not so different from a Gate team really."

That brought him a serious look from Ronon, not that it stopped the man from filling and sealing perfect samosas.

When everything was deep-fried and ready, Amar rushed them all to sit down at the table. "Enjoy while it is hot!"

"Mmm, so flaky and crisp," Mila said.

"Much better than our yellow curry mix," Sakish smirked around a big bite.

Ronon grunted as he shoved an entire samosa into his mouth.

"This is better than any restaurant," Shivonne enthused, sliding into more of a French accent than they'd heard from her before. "Tangy, not too spicy. We should do this again."

Spencer thought about Rossi teaching Italian cooking for Penelope and the team just before he left. He knew Hotch had pressured Rossi to do it, and Emily had blatantly pleaded with Spencer when he hadn't wanted to go. But it had been the most successful team building activity he could remember. Of course they hadn't tried many. Mostly that team had been stressed to the point of only spending time off together when something extreme happened or when certain team members needed a drink and dragged the rest to a bar or club.

"You know, I'm supposed to be some sort of community consultant here," Spencer said. "I can't think of a better way for me and everyone else to get to know each other. Maybe I could start a sign up list, asking for volunteers to teach their home cooking for whoever's interested."

"I could take next week," Shivonne offered. "I don't bake any fancy French pastries, but I make a fine bouillabaisse. How do we request ingredients and how many people should I plan for?"

Spencer learned as much from hearing Amar, Sakish, and Shivonne discuss logistics as he had from the cooking class.

#

Afterward, he followed Ronon back to his room and asked, "May I come in for a minute?"

Ronon waved him in. While the big man sprawled on his bed and removed his shoes, Spencer couldn't help but look around. There were no knick-knacks, although the woven bedcover looked homemade, mostly red with warm brown and tan accents. On the walls hung only two decorations. One was a sword with a spiraling bit of metalwork along the hilt, from above the cross guard to just below the blade. Even Spencer could see that it was beautiful and unlike any style he'd seen on Earth. Beside it was a small painting, maybe a foot across and nine inches high, of a city skyline. Most of the tall buildings were made from stone that matched the tan strands in the bedcover. The roof of one central building was red, and Spencer knew in a flash that whoever gave Ronon the weaving for his bed had seen this painting and knew its significance. Spencer stepped closer and saw marks painted in a column in the lower left corner. Each blocky symbol had wide vertical and narrow horizontal lines.

"Is this Satedan writing?" Spencer asked.

"Yes," Ronon answered without looking. He was removing knives from his hair and placing them in a lower drawer beside the bed.

"Would you tell me what it says?"

Spencer was prepared for the buzzing translation sound that accompanied the word "Shicza." He waited to see if Ronon would offer a translation or explanation and received both together: "It was the capital city of Sateda."

Spencer closed his eyes and felt them sting with the loss of a city he never knew. "It's beautiful."

"Your eyes are closed."

"I've memorized it, and the writing." Opening his eyes he turned to Ronon. "Did any books survive in your language?"

Ronon grunted and produced a plain black leather-bound volume from the drawer above where he'd put the knives.

Spencer accepted it reverently and turned through the first few pages. His memory for symbols he didn't understand wasn't as good as it would be for pictures, real objects, or alphabets he knew. That was part of the difference between eidetic and photographic memory. But he didn't have to read the language to see there were only a small number of symbols repeating. "From the alignment, I can guess this is written top down starting with the column on the left. How many symbols are in the alphabet?"

Spencer turned four more pages before Ronon said, "Thirty-two."

"Would you teach me to read it?"

"Not why you came here."

Not setting the book down, Spencer said, "But I wondered, since I saw your name written in the gym with the wide vertical lines. I don't speak many languages, but I can read well enough in several. Books and written words, they mean a lot to me. They connect me to more than I could ever know."

"Only have one book." Ronon looked between the single book and Spencer's wide open eyes. He huffed and shook his head. "Write something to teach you with tomorrow."

"Thank you. Once I know what to look for, I can try to find more, in the database or with the linguists."

Ronon only shook his head. "What did you want?"

"Um." There wasn't a chair in the room, and Spencer felt strange looking down at Ronon as they talked.

Ronon seemed to read Spencer's body language well already. He pointed to the end of the bed and said, "Sit."

Spencer sat. He set the book down beside him so he wouldn't fiddle with it as he felt himself growing nervous. Instead, he rubbed his hand against the soft weave of the bedspread. "What you said before, about gifts and spirit animals. I was wondering how others viewed that here and whether it was okay to talk about it. It's just, a couple of people on Earth, in Cascade and before that in Florida, have talked about Shamanism and ghosts around me. With the way the child victims on Earth reacted to me and the Healer on Paca singled me out, I'm wondering if it might be relevant to the case."

"Dunno," Ronon said, crossing his arms and looking around impatiently.

"I'm not sure what you mean by that. If it's taboo or something, I won't ask anyone directly. I didn't bring it up at the meeting yesterday, because I thought I should ask you first." On Earth, Ronon's posture would have screamed "back off." Instead, Spencer felt like a magnet was drawing him closer to the man. It was confusing, and Spencer hated not having enough information. "Look, I don't want to offend you. I like you. A lot. But my social skills are hit or miss even with populations I've studied on Earth. The best I know to do with you is to ask and be honest. If you can put up with that and maybe ask and be honest back sometimes, then possibly I can learn how not to annoy you as much in the future."

Ronon dropped his chin and stared up at Spencer with beautiful clear brown eyes. All of a sudden Spencer remembered the feeling of fingers in his hair, on his neck. He wanted more than he had any right to want.

"You have anything on Earth where people wrap themselves in separate blankets and then spend the night talking and touching?"

"There's a practice called bundling that used to be offered to guests sharing a bed in parts of America or Europe. Some Amish people in the United States still practice bundling as part of the courtship between their young men and women to allow intimacy without sexual contact."

"Yeah, that."

"Tell me how it works here and what you call it."

"Canff. If you want to build a relationship with someone based on trust and respect, it’s a way to get to know each other without being too distracted by sex. Can happen after sex too, if someone needs extra space or to focus on comfort in a relationship."

"You're going to have to tell me how much of this is personal, because I really want to write it all down in my notebook about languages and cultures here."

"Thought it was your taboo. American men fear the word 'relationship.'"

Spencer shrugged and his shoulders pulled in. "Did you get that from a TV show or movie? I'm not very good with pop culture references."

"Doesn't matter. Can we canff?"

"At the risk of being horribly over-practical, I should probably use the bathroom first."

Ronon waved him toward the bathroom door. The little room was so much more alien than the bedroom. Of course, the room and fixtures were Ancient to begin with. The counter was filled with jars, tubs and bottles with no words to explain their contents to Spencer. He smelled something vaguely like eucalyptus, but not. There was also a wicked looking blade that probably served as a straight razor and a metal tool that looked sharp on one end and hooked on the other. Spencer used the toilet and washed up as well as he could without knowing what might count as soap.

Back in the bedroom, Ronon had set two folded blankets on top of the bed. They looked like the standard cotton kind from Earth that could be easily washed. The man had also changed into a simpler, sheer cut of leather pants that took Spencer's breath away. No one with muscle definition like that had ever wanted to get in bed with Spencer, bundled or not.

"Guess I should keep my shirt on then." Ronon patted Spencer solidly on the shoulder as he passed to take his turn in the bathroom.

A couple days before, Spencer would have wondered if Ronon was intentionally playing on the idiom "keep your shirt on," but at this point he had no doubts. Ronon was not only well spoken when he wanted to be, but he enjoyed playing games with language. Spencer found that almost as intriguing as the sheer leather pants.

When Ronon returned a moment later, Spencer was still standing fully dressed in the middle of the room. "I don't know what to do next."

"Neither do I. What do you usually wear to bed?"

"Boxers."

"Would more make you feel better tonight?" There didn't seem to be any hidden judgments behind the question.

"I'm not sure if we're supposed to be necking, cuddling, or talking mostly. For talking, I like my shirt on. For necking, off. For cuddling, it depends on how sweaty we get."

Ronon pulled him into a hug. "I like my chest bare. You can leave your shirt on for now, if you want."

Spencer nodded as Ronon's arm stroked up and down his back. He had no idea what he'd gotten into, but he couldn't imagine what spending the night would be like if a simple hug melted away his concerns.

Ronon stepped back and removed the shirt with front laces that he'd been wearing. Spencer hurried to remove his vest and outer shirt as well as shoes and socks. He hesitated for just a moment before removing his pants as well and taking the radio off of his ear. Then he followed Ronon to the bed, where his host unfolded one blanket, tucked it under Spencer's arms, and slowly wrapped the lower part of Spencer's body like a caterpillar in a cocoon. He set the other folded blanket aside, pulled back the woven bedspread as well as a blanket and sheet beneath, and helped Spencer to sit and then lie down in his cocoon.

"Comfortable?" Ronon asked.

Spencer was glad his arms were free. He remembered the last time he'd felt vulnerable lying in bed in front of the Satedan and how that had ended with a scalp rub that calmed his migraine. "Physically, I'm fine. Emotionally, there are more unknown variables than I can say I'm comfortable with, but I want to be here despite that."

"Honest." Ronon shrugged and turned to dim the lights by hand. Spencer had grown used to doing that with a thought in his room, but he realized it might count as rude in someone else's. With the lights at what Spencer would call nightlight level, Ronon proceeded to wrap himself in a blanket cocoon, lie down beside Spencer, and pull the sheet and blanket already on the bed up to cover them both. "Canff is uncomfortable and unknown to me, too."

"But you're the one who explained and suggested it," Spencer said, squirming so he faced his host more comfortably.

Ronon reached out and clasped Spencer's hand. "I knew about it. Hadn't done it."

"Why me?" Spencer asked, surprised at how Ronon's hand in his made the uncertainties of the situation more bearable.

Ronon took a deep breath. "Seemed right. You asked about gifts. Seems you ought to know and tell others if it helps. I don't know what my people wouldn't want shared. When war broke out on Sateda, I was a very young man. The person I've grown into is only part Satedan."

"Would it help to track down more of your people? Some of them must be older. They could tell you what you would have been taught each set of four years."

"It's not a page to be read or recited." Ronon used his thumb to trace circles on Spencer's palm, and Spencer stroked back with his finger. The tiny touches sent tingles across Spencer's skin and up his arm. "You know the sorting hat in _Harry Potter_?"

Spencer's brain slammed into a wall. "Uh, no?"

"Fairy godmother in _Cinderella_?"

"You have seen an interesting selection of Earth movies," Spencer said, "But yes, I know the story, at least a couple versions."

"Cinderella is at a time of change. She wants to be independent and meet more people. But some people betray her, and it looks like she might give up. So her fairy godmother wants to help her try new things. This powerful, magical woman doesn't try to share all the wisdom an older person has about protecting your dreams and your stuff and making back up plans and carrying hidden weapons. No, she helps Cinderella with what she was working on, getting clothes and transportation so she can learn more for herself, out in the world. That's what a <dusapa> would do on Sateda."

"First, I can't believe you got all that from Disney. Second, I am stunned and amazed and—honored is maybe the word I want—that you're making the effort to talk to me about this. I could literally ask you questions for hours about the explanation you just gave. But, believe it or not, every hair on my entire body is standing up in reaction to your thumb stroking my palm. I don't know how this canff thing is supposed to work, but I'm some mix of turned on and nervous, curious and worried I'm going to screw this up, that I'm not sure I've experienced before. At the very least, I thought I should tell you."

"Honestly. Come here," Ronon said. Before Spencer could process the words, let alone maneuver his blanket wrapped body, Ronon closed the space between them. He tugged Spencer until his head was on Ronon's shoulder and Ronon had one hand massaging the back of his neck and the other rubbing circles on his back. "This okay?"

It felt good, possibly too good but not in the about to fly apart way from before. "I feel like I could just lie here indefinitely. It's very nice. Very nice."

"You want something else?"

Spencer tried to understand the situation and what was bothering him about it. Everything felt good, possibly too good. "The way I react to your touch isn't like me. And I'm not sure how to touch you back. Are there rules?"

"Only if we make some."

Spencer reached up to touch the far side of Ronon's jaw with his fingers. He traced along the bone until he reached Ronon's beard. He ran his fingers through Ronon's facial hair as if he'd never seen it.

Ronon let out a sigh and the warm air tickled Spencer's fingers, making him shiver. "Your sense of touch is stronger than most," Ronon said. Spencer couldn't pull his fingers away from the warm damp breath even when he tried. "Always, but more so now. I can tell. For me it's smell and hearing. I'm a Tracker, that's my gift. With you my gift is better. You smell like—I don't know, better than anything else. I want to bury my nose in your neck and let that smell surround me. I can recognize your heartbeat and the way you breathe from across the room sometimes. When I don't know where you are, I catch myself listening for you. My people had stories about people being drawn together, their gifts weaving them together, but I only heard whispers and allusions to that. I think it's what a dusapa would help me sort out if I were with my people now, but I know we'd have to work it out ourselves in the end. You are definitely unique."

Spencer was vibrating. It wasn't shivering. It was good but also distressing. After Ronon's speech, Spencer's fingers played across the man's lips. So soft compared to the beard and mustache. So warm. Damp on the inner edge. Spencer traced that edge, the full lower lip. "Can I?"

"Yes."

Spencer bumped and squirmed until his arms supported him facing Ronon. He hovered inches above Ronon's face, staring into calm eyes with huge pupils. Slowly Spencer lowered his lips to brush against Ronon's.

He'd known it would be overwhelming. It was still more than he expected. Something vital seemed to pass between their lips. He drank Ronon in even as something of his own was given. An image of a cat sucking the soul from a baby crossed his mind. A reference followed to a verdict by an English jury in 1791 in which a cat was condemned for a Plymouth child's death, for stealing its soul. Then Spencer was back in the moment sliding his now wet lips back and forth across Ronon's. He was filled with sensation, whole, warm, complete.

He'd stopped shivering.

At some point Ronon's arms wrapped around him, but Ronon didn't push him for more or try to make him stop.

Spencer eventually realized his lips were getting sore. He settled on his side, facing Ronon. Their bundled bodies were pressed together. Now it felt comforting. Spencer didn't feel about to explode. He was still aroused and his skin over-sensitized. Somehow he felt safe being that way beside Ronon.

"They didn't show you _Snow White_ or _Sleeping Beauty_ , did they?"

"Saying our kiss woke you up?"

"I was thinking more of a magic kiss as a symbol of change."

"Were you thinking about cats?"

"Tell me you saw that in a movie, too."

"Don't think so."

Spencer thought he would have freaked out with anyone else. Instead, his thought split quietly into bundles of questions. "Memes can pass through a society or culture—via people, books, movies—ensuring shared understanding even when key aspects are not consciously recalled."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Ronon replied sounding far too American.

"You think there will be actual sleep involved?"

"Look like you're about to pass out."

"I have so many questions."

"They can wait."

Spencer drifted, not sure if he liked the idea of waiting, but surprised at how close he was to exhaustion. His hands clutched onto Ronon's blanket as Spencer fell asleep.

#

The next morning, everything seemed sharper, more significant, during Spencer's morning walk. He needed the chance to process all his recent discoveries, new job, new life, and what was happening between him and Ronon.

His radio stopped him before he even reached the Athosian morning gathering. "Woolsey to Dr. Reid. Could you please join us in the conference room right away? We have need of an arbitrator."

Spencer turned immediately and radioed, "On my way."

When he reached the meeting area off the Gate room, he found an interesting distribution of people seated or standing silently around the triangular table. On the side nearest the door sat Mr. Woolsey with Lorne standing behind his left shoulder. Woolsey motioned to an empty seat next to him, "Please, join us, Dr. Reid."

Reid set down his coffee and messenger bag, but took his time surveying the others present before he sat down. Seated to his left were two angry looking Marines. Standing behind them with serious but mostly blank faces were Sheppard and Ronon. Seated on the right was a slight, young man in a science uniform with long hair that was pulled back at the top in a way typical of many Athosian males. The Athosians were diverse enough in appearance that Spencer couldn't be sure, but Teyla stood with her hand on the young man's shoulder and a fierce look in her eyes. The three men across the table all looked younger than Spencer, those standing behind them had the posture of stern parents.

"I object," the nearer Marine with darker hair said, pointing at Spencer. "He's biased. He's one of them."

Spencer looked back and forth between the Marines' side of the table and Teyla's. He'd learned when to stay silent to let an unsub give away more information, and he kept his posture and face confident, offering only a slight raise of his eyebrows. Inside his mind was spinning with conjectures as to ways in which he was one of "them", presumably implying he was more like Teyla and the young scientist than like the military men on the other side of the table, although Teyla was a warrior, too.

Woolsey clearly didn't understand either and took the opportunity to fill the silence. "Dr. Reid, we've called you as an independent mediator to arbitrate a dispute between Corporal Diaz, Private Lowe, and Science Intern Namar regarding something that took place last night in a storage room beneath hydroponics."

"Mr. Woolsey, sir, with all due respect, the military has its own chain of command and procedures. There is no way some newly arrived civilian who's as gay as the boy over there should have any say in this." It was the darker haired Marine speaking again, Corporal Diaz. His face was still flushed with anger and Spencer could see his pulse throbbing in his neck, but he'd calmed his voice to appeal to Woolsey. Spencer kept his eyes on the man speaking and did his best not to react or glance at Ronon.

"Because the person bringing charges is a civilian, this inquiry will be independent of any action the United States military may choose to take. Dr. Reid was trained as an analyst by the FBI and hired as a Consulting Detective for Atlantis. I'd advise you to treat him with civility as the only other mediator available has already recused herself in this matter." Woolsey nodded briefly to Teyla, and Spencer was glad to know he wasn't called in against her wishes. Then Woolsey turned to Spencer and said, "Dr. Reid, everyone in this room will be happy to assist you during this meeting or with any further enquiry as you see fit. We will do our best not to impede or interfere with your investigation."

Spencer had to give the man credit. That was the sort of authority and freedom that Spencer would need to run a proper investigation. He looked around the room and saw that everyone standing seemed determined to stay calm and quiet. "First, I would like to make it clear that I have no previous knowledge of Corporal Diaz, Private Lowe, or Science Intern Namar. Nor do I know what charges may have been made, but I will do my best to listen to each party's perspective without bias and to understand any cultural or other assumptions that may be involved. That said," he turned to his right, intentionally ignoring the loud Marine for the moment, "Science Intern Namar, are you comfortable speaking in this room with everyone present about what happened last night, or do we need to make other arrangements to help you tell your version of events as honestly as possible?"

Namar raised a hand to cover Teyla's on his shoulder almost as if he was reassuring the older leader. "I can speak here, but I need to start with yesterday morning."

"Please, tell us as completely as possible." Spencer glanced around the room to see if anyone was likely to interrupt or object, but the room was frozen almost like a painting.

"Diaz and Lowe were escorting me as they usually do when I work on the plumbing and ventilation systems beneath hydroponics. My supervisor, Dr. Lu, used to come with us more often, but he is very busy, and Diaz convinced him I would do better working more independently and that they would keep me safe." Namar started squirming in his seat and speaking in a quieter voice as he went, but he'd mostly held Spencer's gaze until that point. "Yesterday, they showed me a room with a box of food and comic books and two large jugs. We stopped for a little while, for a break. We're allowed to take breaks."

Namar paused and looked sharply at Spencer, as if checking for approval. In that moment, he looked incredibly young. Spencer remembered Ronon translating his age into Earth years and then explaining suss age, and realized he was running an investigation where even the ages of those involved might be subject to cultural misunderstandings. Spencer kept his thoughts to himself and nodded.

Namar tucked his legs up under himself on the chair and continued. "We ate some snacks, and Lowe read me a comic book. He's done that before. When Diaz opened one of the jugs, I could smell it was alcohol. I did not complain when he drank it, but I told him I could not while working. He teased me. But my work there can be dangerous with chemicals and electricity and cthuloid creepers, so I told him I could not drink any alcohol while working."

Spencer very much wanted to ask what a cthuloid creeper was and whether Sheppard had named it, but he sensed it wasn't germane to the inquiry. He nodded again, trying to encourage Namar to continue without showing any bias. He sat back farther so he could watch for other reactions around the room, especially from the two Marines.

"They made me promise not to tell anyone about their secret room and said we should come back later, after work. I knew they were a little disappointed. I thought they were very nice to listen to me and to invite me to share their food and drink after work." Namar hesitated and clasped his hands together in his lap. "I knew I was not supposed to go with them to an off limits area at night, but I told myself it was alright because they are military, and the military is allowed to go everywhere and do as they please. I did not know what their customs were about sharing alcohol, but Lowe said everyone had to take a drink every time we turned a page in the comic. I did not wish to give offence. And I am not allowed to walk back from there without an escort, so I drank more than I ever had before."

Spencer didn't like what he was hearing, about the situations or assumptions of military entitlement. When Namar just stared at his hands and didn't say anything more, Spencer asked, "Do you remember what happened next?"

"Diaz said we each had to take off a piece of clothing as well as take a drink every time we turned a page. I was still sitting on Lowe's lap, and he was holding the comic book as well, so Diaz said he would help us take our clothes off with each page." Spencer wondered why Namar hadn't mentioned before that he was sitting in Lowe's lap, but the way the young man was perched on the chair and speaking faster and faster, Spencer knew he should hold his questions until the end.

Just then, a door slid open and McKay rushed in already shouting. "Why are you all meeting with my science minion without me present?" The Head of Science waved the arm holding his tablet in a wide sweep taking in all the people in the room, stopping with it pointed at Lorne who had just shut the door to maintain some privacy. "Seriously, your second is here and no one from the sciences was called?"

McKay glared at Sheppard until the Colonel glanced down to make sure neither of the Marines could see as he rolled his eyes. "Lorne is here to guard the door, so you're lucky he let you in. Your science _intern_ ," Sheppard emphasized the word in contrast to the term "minion" that McKay had so casually thrown out, "is here with Teyla, so we were treating it as a civilian complaint but not necessarily related to his position as science staff."

McKay pointed his free hand accusingly at Sheppard. "You're hedging. You think maybe someone from science should be here after all. I'm staying." McKay planted his feet, but the triumphant smile left his face when Woolsey started speaking.

"While I am pleased to see you show such concern for your staff, Dr. McKay, if you stay you will have to abide by the same conditions everyone else in the room has agreed to. Namely, Dr. Reid is in charge of this investigation, and the rest of us will remain silent unless he asks us to speak. Can you do that, Dr. McKay?"

"Of course, I can." Rodney pulled out the only remaining chair, directly beside Namar, and sat down. Teyla placed her right hand on McKay's shoulder in the same way her left hand rested on Namar's, and it was only then that the Chief Scientist started to look concerned and seriously take in other people's expressions.

Spencer waited until Namar met his eyes again. Luckily McKay was seated on the young man's far side, so he wasn't within line of sight. "Are you okay with this, Namar? Can you continue?"

The intern seemed to have shrunk into himself during the distraction, and Spencer wondered if he'd have to ask McKay to leave after all. Then Namar took a deep breath and stared at the wall over Spencer shoulder. He started to speak slowly and deliberately. "When we ran out of clothes and drew near the end of the comic. Diaz said I had to give him a blow job if I wanted to hear the rest. I said I didn't know what that meant. Diaz said Lowe would show me." Namar's words sped up. "Lowe didn't want to at first, but Diaz grabbed his hair until Lowe opened his mouth. Diaz put his penis in Lowe's mouth and moved in and out a few times. I know people do things differently on different planets, but that's not something my people do in front of others. I don't think I'd want to do that with more than maybe one or two people in my whole life. I tried to explain and even offered to use my hand on his penis as a compromise, although I did not want to do that either. I wanted to leave but was trapped between them. My mind was moving slower than I believe could be due to alcohol. Diaz said that if I finished the alcohol in the jug and let Lowe use his hand on my penis, then I would not have to do anything I objected to. I tried to protest, but Diaz was already lifting the jug over my mouth."

McKay pounded his hands and looked like he would throw himself across the table to attack Diaz or at least shout in his face. Teyla's hand clamped down tighter on his shoulder. When McKay turned to her to protest, she silenced him with a look. Across the table Diaz glared back, but Lowe, Sheppard, and Ronon kept their faces disturbingly blank. Spencer remembered what Ronon had said the night before when he explained about canff and relationships built on trust and respect. He'd implied Satedans often engaged in more casual sex, but there were so many questions Spencer hadn't had a chance to ask. Now he wondered how hearing Namar's statements and watching Spencer work might affect Ronon's opinions of both Spencer and how sex was handled on Earth. Glancing back to Teyla and Namar, Spencer realized he was dealing with something much larger than a single sexual assault case. He wished he had his team to help him.

Namar continued as if he hadn't noticed the interruption. "Lowe put down the comic book and started stroking my leg. I ignored that and tried to say I could not drink all that was left in the jug, but Diaz told me to try." The words were rushing out of Namar in an emotional torrent, and Spencer didn't dare to interrupt. He didn't want to make it any harder for the young Athosian to finish. "Diaz did not let me take my mouth off the jug after that. He would tip it up when he wanted me to drink, and I had to swallow. Lowe handled my penis, and Diaz would watch that and then watch my mouth when he made me drink. Sometimes I choked and coughed and alcohol ran out the sides of my mouth, but Diaz kept the jug in place and made me try to breathe around it. After a while, I could not open my eyes. I do not know when I passed out. I woke on the bench in the hydroponics shower area before dawn. They had rinsed me off and put my clothes back on, and I was all alone."

The room was completely silent for a full minute despite McKay turning his head furiously between Teyla, Namar, and the Marines. Then Diaz started saying, "That's not—"

But Spencer held up a hand and cut him off, "You'll have your turn when I'm ready." It was all he could do to keep his voice commanding and steady. Then he said more quietly to Namar, "Do you need a moment to go outside or get a drink of water before I ask you a few questions?"

"No, I will answer." Namar looked like he was running on fumes. His eyes barely focused even as he stared intently at the wall behind Spencer.

A moment later, Lorne set a glass of water in front of him. Namar nodded in thanks and took a drink without seeming to think about it. When he finished and set the glass down, Spencer asked, "What did you do between then and now?"

"I snuck into my bed and slept. This morning I went to ask Teyla if there was a way not to have Diaz and Lowe work with me anymore." Namar's eyes flicked over to meet Spencer's for the first time in quite a while.

"Did you tell her this whole story?" Spencer asked, hoping for insights into Athosian expectations as well as Namar and Teyla's own personal positions.

"Not at first. I thought I had misunderstood some Earth peculiarity. I had heard about 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' and heard that was over, but I did not know what strange rules might have replaced it."

Spencer could tell the young man had been confused by more than that, but at this point, Spencer fell into protocols for questioning a victim in front of others. He didn't want to ask anything more personal than Namar had already shared. A psychologist or someone among the Athosians could speak with Namar in private, but Spencer needed to better define the role of his investigation. "After you spoke to Teyla, did you want to file a complaint to have Diaz and Lowe punished?"

Namar glanced up at Teyla but did not meet her eyes. "No, I think it was partly my fault that this happened. They had not done anything bad to me in the past."

"Had you ever sat on Lowe's lap before?"

"Sure, that way he was comfortable reading comic books to me."

"When did that start?"

"A few weeks ago, when Dr. Lu stopped coming with us all the time. Lowe had a comic book in his pocket once and offered to read it to me when we stopped for a break. He was sitting on the floor in the maintenance tunnel, and Diaz said it would make Lowe's arm and back sore to show me the pictures unless I sat in his lap. Kids sit like that all the time among my people. It does not come up with people my age, probably because most men are not as large compared to me as Lowe and Diaz."

Spencer tried to read between the lines without bringing in his own perspective, but he couldn't forget that the other people involved were American men. "So it would not have occurred to you to sit in Lowe's lap if Diaz has not suggested it?"

"No." Namar answered easily but as if he had no idea why Spencer was asking. It suddenly seemed very wrong for Spencer, as a person from Earth, to be in charge of this case. He glanced up to Teyla, but she only nodded at him.

"What would you think if an Athosian who could read English told you to sit in his lap while he read to you?'

"No one would."

Spencer glanced at Teyla and she shrugged. He was sure she chose the best gesture she thought he could understand, but he knew she could have communicated much more to Ronon or even Sheppard without a word.

"Among your people would you ever see any adult, perhaps someone's lover, sit in another adult's lap?"

"No," Namar looked confused. Then a look of understanding seemed to smooth his wrinkled features. "I understand how people might have sex facing each other with one naked in the other's lap, but I was never facing Lowe that way. I was sideways or facing outward, just like reading to a child."

Spencer concluded that in Namar's mind, and probably in Athosian culture, there was no romantic or flirtatious connotation to sitting in someone's lap. From what he'd said before, giving a blow job was also a more intimate act than in current American culture. Spencer needed to reach past the cultural misunderstanding to understand what the Marines might have taken advantage of or set up deliberately.

"You said Diaz suggested you sit in Lowe's lap. Did he ever ask you to sit in his?"

"No, he watched us a lot. He said he did not care about seeing the pictures in the comics. I thought maybe he was a sort who is not comfortable with touching but tends to watch people."

Spencer wondered if Namar thought Diaz was touch phobic, a voyeur, or something else entirely. He noticed a glance from McKay to Sheppard and what might have been a momentary stiffening in Sheppard's already tense body language, but he didn't have attention to spare in that direction. "Other than suggesting you sit in Lowe's lap, did Diaz or Lowe ever try to control what you did?"

"Diaz usually decided when and where we took our breaks, but that was all until last night." Namar was starting to slump in his chair.

"Is there anything else I should know?"

Namar gave him his most open and uncertain look yet. "I have no idea what other people should know anymore." It hurt Spencer's heart to hear it, but he promised himself he'd follow up on that later, in consultation with Teyla and others.

"Thank you for telling us your side, Namar. Do you need a break or anything before the others have their turn?"

"I do not." Teyla squeezed his shoulder.

Spencer forcibly turned his attention to the Marines. Choosing to make Diaz wait again, he said, "Private Lowe, can you please tell us your version of events, starting wherever your perspective differs?"

Lowe's face stayed blank, and without looking over his should he said, "Colonel Sheppard, sir, do I have the right to take the fifth or otherwise not speak?"

Sheppard looked to Lorne who shook his head. "I don't think that applies here. If you refuse to answer questions now, I will keep you isolated under guard until I can seek legal advice."

"I would prefer that, sir."

During the brief exchange, Spencer watched as Diaz visibly calmed. Spencer wondered whether the more temperamental Marine planned to follow Lowe's example, or if he was relieved Lowe wasn't speaking up as another victim. "Corporal Diaz," Spencer said, "Can you give us your version of yesterday's events?"

"That little fag had been coming onto us for weeks. I kept my distance, but Lowe treated him like a little brother, reading to him and letting him climb in his lap. None of that was ever our idea. He invited himself along last night after he saw our stash of whiskey and snacks. Then he got drunk and made a pass at Lowe, who held him off. All that other stuff he just made up." Diaz said it all with a straight face and no emotion but contempt. The blankness and lack of detail made the lie obvious, probably to everyone in the room. It also turned Spencer's stomach to see someone care so little about misusing others. Diaz didn't read as a psychopath, just someone who expected to get his own way and possibly got off on controlling and manipulating others.

"Seeing as you're willing to cooperate, Diaz, where did you get the two jugs of whiskey?"

Diaz smiled in a nasty way and glared at McKay, "Some of the scientists have a still set up in the hydroponics lab."

"So you paid for both jugs and carried them to a storage room in an off limits area?"

"Lowe and I did it together." Diaz was very quick to point out.

"And how much did you and Lowe have to drink last night?"

"Nothing we couldn't handle. It was Namar who got drunk off his ass and insisted on finishing off a jug."

"Was that the first jug or the second?"

"Just the one."

"So we'll find a full jug in that room along with some comic books and food? After all, you didn't feel you had anything to hide."

Diaz smiled as if he still expected to get away with it all. "Naw, that would have been irresponsible given how that little fag got all drunk and acted out. When he went off to shower, we cleaned it all up."

"Well then, where's the full jug of whisky and all the comics now?"

"Dunno. I told Lowe to take care of them." Diaz barely spared a glance for his silent companion, who was looking a little glassy eyed to Spencer.

"Well then, I guess we'll have to wait for him to talk before we can let either of you go."

At that Diaz sat forward against the table. "Hey now, I'm telling my part."

"And by your story you weren't impaired by alcohol and you are certain you had no sexual contact with either Lowe or Namar last night?"

"Definitely certain."

Spencer kept his eyes fixed on Diaz as he played what he knew was a somewhat exaggerated hand. "So you'll be happy to know that Dr. Beckett recently explained to most of the people in this room about his Ancient scanner that can detect single cells and viruses, on skin or even internally. He'll be able to examine all three of you and confirm that your penis was never in Lowe's mouth or anywhere else on Lowe or Namar's bodies."

"Wait a second. We don't have to go to medical when nothing happened." Diaz couldn't help looking at Lowe then, but Lowe looked close to breaking, which caused Diaz to glance nervously around the room.

No one else gave away that Carson hadn't been talking about quite this application. Aside from McKay, who seemed to be biting his cheeks to keep from talking and Namar who had closed his eyes, everyone was keeping their faces remarkably blank and playing along. Maybe he did have a team to work with him after all.

Spencer spoke to Diaz with renewed confidence. "When I first arrived, I read over the medical protocols for incidents on Atlantis where there are discrepancies in survivors' memories of events. The protocols may not have been written for this situation, but it qualifies for mandatory medical screening. I doubt anyone can brush their teeth or wash their body so well that not a trace of someone else's DNA remains. This is for your own safety really, given some of the issues we've been investigating lately."

"Well, I might have been a bit drunk, and a single cell won't prove anything."

"All depend on whose cell is where. And while we're at it, where did you get the comics?"

"They're Lowe's. I don't read that stuff."

"Then I won't find any record of you buying comics or trading for them while here?"

Diaz looked away, and Spencer know he'd read the situation right. "Well, maybe just a few, as a gift."

"And how many would 'a few' be?"

"I don't remember—a few!" Diaz shifted back in his seat, clearly on the defensive.

"Give me an estimate, two? Ten? Twenty?"

"Who cares if I bought the damn comics?" Drops of spit hit the table with the angry reply. Diaz was losing control.

"So you're changing your story about who bought the comics, how drunk you were, and whether we might find traces of your semen on Lowe or Namar?"

Diaz puffed up and gave Spencer what was clearly meant to be a cold and intimidating look. It would have been much more effective if Spencer hadn't spent years facing down unsubs and disgruntled law enforcement with the BAU. Diaz spoke loudly when he said, "You can't prove I did anything worse than bringing whiskey to that room. Whatever those fags got up to isn't my fault."

Lowe shivered beside him, but Diaz didn't notice.

"There's a pattern I saw among certain offenders when I worked for the FBI." Spencer kept his voice mild, almost academic. "Some men made themselves feel powerful by targeting those who were different in some way or didn't have anyone watching out for them. They'd pay extra attention to their targets, even bring them gifts. They'd find ways to make themselves useful, working with the target on a project or taking the target places no one else could." Spencer didn't mention these were steps used by pedophiles when grooming children or teenagers. The same tricks seemed to apply when taking advantage of someone in another galaxy or at a power disadvantage. "They'd isolate the target, take him to a place where no one could hear him protest, a place where the target might run into trouble if he tried leaving by himself. Then they'd tell him it all had to stay secret as they started touching, controlling, watching while other people touched the target. Sound familiar?"

Lowe burst out weeping, "Me, too. He did that to me, too."

Diaz practically snarled. "I knew you'd take their side. You fags all stick together!" When Diaz tried to push up from his seat, Ronon and Sheppard each grabbed an arm until he settled back down.

In the meantime, Lorne placed another glass of water and a neatly folded handkerchief in front of Lowe.

Spencer knew he'd have to take Lowe's full statement later. For now, he had enough to count as a confession from Diaz, especially once he cataloged the evidence he expected to find. Playing to his own personal strengths, Spencer gave everyone a chance to calm down as he offered a bit of perspective that might help Lowe, at the very least. "Not that it's my job to educate you, Diaz, but you have no basis to speak about my sexual identity or Namar's either. I can't guess what sort of signifiers he might choose based on local languages and cultures, but on Earth these days it's widely accepted that people's sexuality is fluid, leading many to prefer a term like 'queer' rather than confine themselves to a specific category. There are also those who identify as gay, straight, bisexual, ambisexual, pansexual, asexual, gray sexual, demisexual, and at least a dozen other well defined variations before we even discuss what people refer to as kinks or power dynamics. Even if we were only dealing with the better known Earth identity markers, I don't see how anyone could take Namar's side based on such factors when nothing Namar said here identified his sexuality. He never referred to being sexually interested in anyone involved at any point. You are biased by your own skewed perspective and a need to dominate or control others. Now, I'm going to ask others present in this room to help me cordon off and search all areas mentioned in testimony today as well as all of your quarters. You will each be held separately, at least until the searches and medical examinations are complete. I will consult with Teyla and Woolsey as well as military representatives about how best to proceed based on the testimony and evidence gathered today."

#

Sheppard took care of accommodations and guards. No one questioned why Diaz was put in a cell, Lowe in a quiet observation room, and Namar in a meditation room kept by the Athosians.

Lorne turned out to be frightfully efficient at producing the paperwork needed and then organizing the searches required. Spencer personally inspected each location as well, documenting and asking questions as needed.

Spencer also interviewed Lowe after his medical exam showed scarring in his throat as well as DNA traces from Diaz. Sadly, Lowe seemed more confused about his own sexuality than about any of the other testimony he gave. He hadn't been with a man until Diaz manipulated him into giving hand jobs, blow jobs, and luring Namar. But after "Don't Ask Don't Tell" ended, Diaz had gradually convinced Lowe that he'd always been a "fag" and had been waiting for someone like Diaz to take charge. Lowe had led a sheltered life before joining the military and had never heard of fluid sexuality or the other terms Spencer had thrown out. Spencer promised he'd be willing to talk with Lowe anytime in the future, but for the time being he helped him choose a psychologist who could meet with him right away.

Teyla helped Spencer set up meetings with representatives from various backgrounds on Atlantis and offered to help facilitate talks about cultural awareness and developing a code of conduct and procedures that would better suit Atlantis in the future.

It was Ronon who finally sat Spencer down on a balcony with a sandwich and a large glass of water.

"Missed lunch," Ronon said as he sat down beside Spencer, both of them facing out to sea.

"I think I missed breakfast, too." Spencer ate the entire sandwich and drank all his water without stopping to talk. Then Ronon produced a travel mug of perfectly sweetened hot coffee seemingly out of nowhere.

Spencer wrapped his hands around it, suddenly at a loss for words.

"On Sateda, you could have sat on my lap. If you wanted." Ronon leaned in so their upper arms pressed together.

"This morning didn't put you off getting involved with someone from Earth?"

"Did it put you off"—Ronon mimicked his exact words and Spencer was very aware the man spoke English rather than using Gate translation—"getting involved with a military man?"

Spencer laughed at how easily Ronon turned his worries aside. Then Ronon leaned a little closer. His face became soft and serious. "Made me want you more. Want to hold you."

"Were you actually inviting me to sit in your lap now?" Spencer watched as Ronon smiled at him. "You should know I don't always pick up on things like that. I thought you were just explaining a cultural referent, and I have so many questions I still want to ask you."

"So ask." Ronon scooted back as he said it, and even Spencer could tell he was making room for Spencer to sit in his lap if he wanted.

Spencer shifted awkwardly, half crawling to make his way into Ronon's lap. An eerie echo from Namar's testimony hit him as he realized Ronon was one of the few men large enough to really hold Spencer this way. Spencer was lean but not small. Somehow, Ronon seemed to wrap around him naturally, like a sideways hug that left Spencer's head resting against Ronon's shoulder and neck.

"This is nice." Spencer heard his voice as if from far away, feeling almost drugged with comfort and warmth. He realized he was still holding the coffee Ronon had brought him and took a sip. "How does holding like this fit with something like canff in Satedan culture?"

"There would be scenes like this in stories, with balconies. Not like romance novels or romantic comedy movies from Earth. Sometimes they would stroke each other's arms." Ronon demonstrated by stoking from shoulder to wrist on Spencer's outside arm, along the smooth fabric of his well worn light blue dress shirt. It felt surprisingly intimate. "Didn't have long sleeves much." Ronon smiled and gave Spencer a small squeeze but then left him enough space to sip his coffee. "Some relationships were romantic, with sex or not. Other times people just had sex. Some people never did. Canff was romantic but also more. I don't know an Earth word for it."

"What I said in the meeting about different words for sexuality on Earth, a lot of people use variations on those to describe their romantic feelings as distinct from sexuality. For example, someone could identify as biromantic but asexual."

Ronon nodded against Spencer's head. "We had a hero like that in an epic journey story. He traveled with a male lover to return to their female lover back home who had children with another man. She also wanted sexual love but neither of the two men traveling did. The father of the children enjoyed sex but not romantic love or relationships."

"What about canff?"

"Not in that story. One where a woman can only speak with her hands. No one can understand her despite all her travel through Stargates. When she falls in love with a Satedan who lost one arm in war, they canff until he learns her language. Finds ways to speak with one hand even though the translation lets her understand his words."

"Is there a romantic connotation to learning someone's language rather than just accepting the Gate translation?"

"Sometimes. Can be just pragmatic."

"Does Satedan have a word for 'blow job'?" Spencer pulled back just as he said it, realizing it might not be appropriate to a discussion of romantic love or while sitting on Ronon's lap when they weren't intending to have sex yet.

Ronon laughed as if he could read Spencer's mind. In an even lower voice than usual he whispered, "We have several. Nassana is most general and could mean anyone's mouth on anyone's genitals. Nassakat would mean cunnilingus. Nassakan would mean fellatio. Nassakal would mean analingus. Nassa nassa would be more casual, like blow job, but could mean either fellatio, analingus, or both. There were other terms, sort of jokes with similar words or images for how someone eats a certain food. A native English speaker once explained 'slurp the gherkin' to me. Some things don't translate well, especially if you know different foods. And to save you from asking, Satedans were much more casual about oral sex than the Athosians appear to be. Your turn."

Spencer buried his face in Ronon's neck and tried to pull himself together. He needed to learn how Pegasus cultures viewed such things, and getting turned on by a vocabulary lesson involving sex was rather juvenile.

"Are you embarrassed that dirty talk turns you on, Spencer?" Ronon was practically whispering in his ear. The warm breath and brushing against his hair sent Spencer's body from interested to half hard in an instant.

He pulled his head away. Ronon looked deep into his eyes, and Spencer felt guilty. "On Earth, it would be kind of embarrassing for someone my age to react to you just listing words like that."

"Even if I'm courting you and you're sitting on my lap?"

Spencer hadn't thought of it quite that way. He wondered if Ronon had meant to tease him a bit, either with the language lesson or by whispering in his ear when he started to react. He didn't know whether he wanted to be teased like that when he had no idea how long they were waiting to have sex. It made him feel a little off kilter, but right now, held in Ronon's arms and lap, he didn't want to tell the man not to flirt at him that way.

Finally Spencer managed to say, "It's been a while. I might overreact sometimes."

"Should I hug you or kiss you now?"

Spencer couldn't help but smile. "I like the way you just ask." He thought maybe their cultural awareness committee could run a "Just Ask" campaign. Ronon shrugged as if it were the obvious thing to do, which it kind of was. "I think a hug might be better right now."

Ronon pulled him in closer, and Spencer set down his coffee. He kept his body sideways so his erection wasn't pressing into anything but his own clothes, but Spencer knew that wasn't enough to make it go away. As Ronon stroked his back with one large warm hand, Spencer felt the touch ricochet through his entire body. When he was aroused or just sensitized to touch, any pleasant touch felt so much better. He knew this about himself, thought from the careful way Ronon held him, that maybe he understood.

Spencer shifted his arm so he was holding Ronon as well. His fingers traced Ronon's shoulder and upper arm, and he wondered about clichés in Satedan stories. Ronon took a deep breath, and Spencer wondered if the Tracker could smell his arousal. The thought was hotter than the vocabulary lesson but also a little worrying from a privacy standpoint. Spencer shifted his focus to learning the contours and textures of Ronon's arm. The feel of their chests breathing together. While still arousing, the physicality also grounded him. It touched a different sort of intimacy in Spencer, something that wasn't exactly romantic or sexual. He wondered if it somehow related to canff or if there was another term he should know in Satedan. A tingly feeling that reminded him of kissing the night before passed though Spencer, and he thought he didn't need a word for it. This was something only Ronon made him feel.

#

That evening, Spencer ended up in Carson's lab again. Spencer was checking over the medical reports on Namar and the two Marines, trying to figure out where Carson was rightfully protecting patients' privacy and where he was just being abstruse. After meeting with representatives of different cultures all afternoon, Spencer wasn't sure he understood anyone's perspective on anything. Carson seemed preoccupied with the slides in his microscope until Spencer gave up and said, "We need to arrange a mission to Sateda."

Carson laughed. "If that's your idea of a date, you truly have no chance with the lad."

"I'm pretty sure he's not interested in me for my social planning skills, but we were discussing romantic tropes in Satedan novels today. They're very different." Spencer pushed his paper file and his tablet down into his shoulder bag and turned to face Carson more fully. "It's not a date. Satedan literature could tell us a lot about perspectives and variations in this universe. It might help us prevent situations like what happened with Namar and possibly understand what our rogue genetic engineer is after."

"Last we saw, Sateda was deserted. While their technology was advanced by Pegasus standards, I've never seen any evidence they worked with genetics or even advanced biology."

"Both Healer Nok and Michael spoke of gifts. The targeted attack on Torren suggests his family's gift for sensing Wraith is somehow still relevant in a galaxy without Wraith. The Satedans had lore about multiple gifts, mental communication like the Wraith, various combinations of heightened senses, and possibly seeing spirit animals. Ronon only knew the stuff a teenager overhears. But his people had printed libraries. I'm learning the language but our linguists and the Atlantis database have nothing from Sateda."

"You're learning Satedan?" The smile that lit Carson's face was entirely too amused.

"It's a simple 32 letter alphabet with each symbol mapped to a single sound. I learned Russian for a friend who didn't even tell me she wasn't dead for seven months." Spencer looked around the sparkly white lab that he knew was thousands of years old and tried to avoid Carson's overly concerned expression.

"You sure you're here to talk about a mission to Sateda?"

"Yes," Spencer rubbed his fingers on his pants. "I'm seeing Dr. Morris, like you suggested, to work through what happened at the BAU. I even checked out both of the support groups, so you don't have to be my counselor."

"I'm trying to be your friend." Carson looked up from cleaning his glasses and waited.

Spencer knew he was all over the place emotionally and not presenting himself very well. "You know, the Earth people here seem just as alien to me as the aliens, maybe more so. But seriously, I value your friendship. Right now I'm appealing to your medical mind and your ability to get things done around here." That was as close as Spencer was willing to come to mentioning whatever connection he suspected between Carson, Sheppard, and McKay. "Help me get a mission to Sateda. I think I can find you documentation on other gifts that you might then be able to relate back to genetics and turn into a lead on our unsub."

Carson looked at Spencer long and hard. "You realize we'd need people who actually exhibit these gifts for me to study the genetics?"

"I know." Spencer nodded, and Carson looked more worried than he'd expected. The analyst couldn't help but wonder if the doctor already knew more than he was saying about gifts, and had even before Spencer brought them up.

#

"I need you to revise the mission plan today." Carson had burst into the middle of the next day's pre-mission briefing, red in the face and breathing through his mouth. Teyla was right on his heels.

"You two weren't even going," Sheppard said.

"Still can't. I need to monitor the treatment we're giving Phillips closely. But evidently he"—Carson pointed a steady finger at Spencer—"told the parents at the children's center to listen for rumors about the new disease."

Teyla continued for him, "An Athosian woman came to me, hoping to remain anonymous. One of our young men, Siban, who's kept away from the community lately, asked his sister how to dress to see a person of some notoriety called Alohabar. This is not someone Siban should have means or reason to be meeting, but he seemed to have an appointment very soon."

Ronon let out a grunt. "Says his sister."

Teyla raised a single eyebrow. "Siban was always an easy going boy, easy to please physically in the usual ways. He rarely went off world and had no skills or connections that might garner the sort of fee Alohabar would charge."

Ronon shrugged as if nothing Teyla could say would convince him.

McKay asked, "Cutting through the stigmas and assumptions, I take it Alohabar is some sort of high end whore?"

"He is a comforter," Teyla said.

Spencer looked around the room. He hadn't heard a buzz but felt he had to say, "That word generally means 'bedspread' where I grew up. Is the comfort this person provides generally of an intimate nature?"

"Perhaps," Teyla said, voice icy, "but to call a comforter a whore is much like calling Dr. McKay a mechanic."

"Been called that. Been called the other as well," McKay said, seeming engrossed in work on two tablets, one in hand and one resting on his lap. "And how have we never heard about this famous comforter until now?"

"As with the Library of Taho or the School of Thimm, the Comforters of Shan Mal were thought destroyed long ago. Some doubted they ever existed at all." Teyla turned her hand palm up and then palm down as she mentioned each alternative. "With the end of the Wraith threat, many lost places and people have reappeared from hiding."

"You don't say," Sheppard slouched even lower in his chair. "Still, suspicions from one guy's sister seem like pretty weak evidence for adding an extra planet to a single planet mission."

"It wouldn't take long to stop by," Beckett said. "Let Reid ask Alohabar a few questions. I'll send a medic in case he persuades the man to give us a blood sample. Then you can be right on your way to Sateda."

"I barely understand why we're going to Sateda, but hey, I never signed up to be a super sleuth." Sheppard pushed out of his chair in a single relaxed sweep. "I'll clear the changes with Woolsey. Meet at the Gate in thirty minutes."

#


	4. Chapter 4

The vegetation on Shan Mal was lush and green, but pretty much Earth normal as far as Spencer could tell. The buildings on the hill to the side of the Gate were low and open, like platform tents. The fabric for most walls shone in jewel colors and was pulled up or back in the bright morning light.

The most remarkable color was on the people. As they walked uphill though crowds of teenagers who seemed to be hurrying to classes, everyone Spencer saw looked orange. The tone was deeper than what Spencer had come to associate with fake tans on Earth and not unattractive. He whispered to Ronon as they walked up to the settlement, "Is their skin color natural or decorative?"

"Happens here. Something with the food."

Spencer thought of the orange coloration sometimes seen in flamingos that ate certain algae, diatoms, or aquatic life forms. Not sure of the cultural mores, he decided not to explain the possibly analogous effect.

Meanwhile, McKay was complaining to the medic Carson had sent along, "This walk uphill is wreaking havoc with my ankle. I think you need to wrap it. And I hope you brought one of those instant ice packs."

"Beckett said you were fine for anything but running," Sheppard drawled from the front of their little group.

The medic, Juarez, who was laboring under a medical duffle and a first responder backpack said, "I have plenty of chemical cold packs, and Dr. Beckett sent chocolate with instructions to share it with you after lunch if you didn't drive me to self-inflicted injury before then."

"His humor is so dry I could choke on it," McKay said, but Spencer saw the smile muscles twitch in his cheek at the mention of chocolate.

At that point an orange-skinned man in loose white pants and a white wrap-around shirt came out to meet them. "Greeting, my friends. May I ask who you're here to see? We did not expect visitors so early."

Slipping into agent mode, Spencer noticed a man and a woman in tighter black versions of the same clothing lurking by the door. It took him a moment to realize Sheppard and the others seemed to expect him to speak for the group. With his BAU team, Hotch or JJ, sometimes even Morgan, Rossi, Emily—really anyone but Spencer—would be the first to speak to locals. He hadn't thought ahead about how to explain his new role to aliens. "My name is Dr. Spencer Reid. I'm investigating what might be a contagious outbreak, and someone named Alohabar as a possible contact. We'd need just a few minutes to speak with him and request a sample for testing."

The man in white kept a neutral expression as he replied, "I assure you our residents receive the highest quality medical care and screening. We have no need for outside oversight or opinions."

Spencer could easily remember what Hotch would say in similar situations. "We're not here to take over, just to help. Anything Alohabar can tell us, even information he doesn't believe significant, could make a difference to our investigation."

"We would all be happy to assist, of course," the smiling greeter said, clearly changing tack. "But you must know that Alohabar's time is expensive, even for conversation. If we made an exception for you, we would have our peace disrupted by many others whose stories may sound equally valid."

"We have immunizations that protect against the Second Childhood parasite," Juarez offered. Spencer wondered if Beckett had planned this trade item as he'd clearly planned chocolate as a bribe for McKay or if it was a standard bargaining chip. Spencer had been immunized himself and read reports on how feared the Second Childhood was in Pegasus. Having read about Dr. McKay's experience with the disease and hearing briefly about Ronon's grandfather convinced Spencer trades were used as an opportunity to vaccinate as much as anything.

The man in white paused. "How would we know if it's effective?"

"If you'll allow me to demonstrate our medical technology?" Jaurez pulled out a scanner and without even pointing it at the local man said, "I see that you had an injury to your right knee many years ago that healed well, but longterm work with your hands has led to inflammation. Moving those joints is probably difficult and limits some of your previous activities. If you would like to try an alternative to whatever you treat that with here, I could offer you a month's supply of the medication we use."

The man who'd greeted them so coldly before clenched his hands slowly and swayed forward a bit. "We have 17 in our graduating class and 10 staff who may soon travel offworld. I would accept a month's supply of your medicine for myself and immunizations for 27 in exchange for a short session with Alohabar."

Jaurez looked to Spencer who looked to Ronon who looked to Sheppard. Sheppard shrugged, so even though they probably could have struck a better bargain, Spencer said, "Accepted."

"Come inside, I will send someone to see if Alohabar is ready early and would speak with you now."

As they were ushered into Alohabar's room a few minutes later, Spencer told himself they hadn't _exactly_ traded drugs for time with a prostitute. The room consisted of a stand-alone platform in the middle of a park, with shimmering golden cloth walls hanging down on three sides. The final wall was currently open, but with wall-sized curtains that could easily be drawn shut at will.

Alohabar turned out to be a young man of about Spencer's height and build, but with the orange complexion of the locals. He lounged in what looked like a giant red bean bag and was dressed in sheer white cloth.

The comforter tilted his head back as they entered. "So many of you." He smiled and half lowered his eyes. "Please make yourselves comfortable. I'm told you wish conversation. Perhaps you'd also like tea?"

Spencer looked around to see if anyone would answer or see to the social niceties. Ronon had stayed outside the tent platform on guard. Sheppard was slouched against a post just inside, but probably also on alert. Juarez set down his bag near the middle of the room but didn't say a word, while McKay seated himself in something like a recliner that allowed him to prop up his leg.

"Um, no thank you," Spencer said. "We wanted to ask you some questions about a possible disease we've been tracking."

"I was told your medicines are especially advanced."

Spencer had no idea how the man made such a statement sound lewd, but he did. "I was wondering if you'd encountered anyone with unusual requests?"

The comforter stared at Spencer. "Unique requests are my specialty. There is nothing I regard as unusual."

"I see." Spencer looked around the room for anything that might help him profile the man he was interviewing, but this clearly wasn't a personal space. There were a few pieces of furniture, nothing particularly resembling a bed, Spencer was quick to note. But aside from a couple of cloth covered boxes whose contents remained hidden, there wasn't much to inventory. "Have you encountered a ritual that involves spreading semen across the eyes, nose, and mouth?"

A sharp blink of the eyes was the only sign that Alohabar was displeased by the question. "I'm not sure what you were told, but I am not one who deals in bodily fluids. There are others here who do, a whole class at the school, if you would like to speak with them."

Nothing about the man's body language suggested he was lying, but Spencer hesitated to rely on that when dealing with a different culture, a different world. He wasn't at all sure he understood the nature of the man's occupation. "That's odd, because someone mentioned your name in connection to our investigation. Perhaps you could tell me what sort of requests you do oblige?"

"The details are, of course, private." Alohabar fluttered his eyelashes, but Spencer could tell he was merely going through the motions and probably bored. "Many people become so caught up in daily existence or the struggle to survive, that basic needs go unmet. They may lack for something they never knew or barely remember, but it leaves an emptiness inside, a hole they long to fill. Some seek a safety akin to their mother's touch, others a chance to run amok and drop civilized pretences. My care allows them to care for others and understand their needs in other relationships."

Spencer's mind adjusted categories and assumptions about human occupations to fit what he was hearing and consider the role of a comforter as a sort of therapist. "In accordance with Bowlby's ethological theory, an individual's early attachment needs may extend into affiliative, caregiving, and sexual relationships later in life. Of course, your hands on approach to mediating what you refer to as 'an emptiness inside' goes beyond what I know of therapeutic applications."

"There are teachers at our school"—Alohabar waved to his right across the gardens as his smile softened with the indulgence that often greeted Spencer's rambling explanations—"who truly might enjoy some discussion with you about that. I am better known for my practice of emotive touch. Through massage or lighter touch I can guide my companions to their emotional core, help them purge or recapture as needed. There are some who wish mostly to talk. One coming today wants to paint me. Another provided a costume for me to wear while we dance. I give them what they request and intuit what else they may need. That is my gift."

"Gift?" Spencer asked. "Do your people see your skills and intuition as an inborn advantage?"

A sharp intake of breath drew Spencer's eye to McKay. He noted the physicist's quick glance to Colonel Sheppard and filed it with other thoughts about that triad.

A much more intentional dip of the shoulder suggested Alohabar thought little of the question. It also displayed a graceful flexing of deltoid and trapezius muscles that Spencer couldn't help but admire. "My people are renowned for their gifts in these areas, so perhaps some proclivity is innate. However, there are outsiders who come to our school and benefit from our teachings. In addition to words and touch, there are many there whose training includes the sexual matters you alluded to before."

"But you don't engage in any form of sex as you guide your companions?" Spencer asked.

"It is not in my nature, and unlike on some other worlds, my kind is profoundly respected here."

Sheppard didn't visibly react, but his non-reaction was stiffer than usual. Spencer filed that observation for later as well.

Spencer couldn't read any deceit in Alohabar's words, but the man's occupation undoubtedly called for some amount of acting ability, and there was a great deal of context the analyst still needed to verify.

"Perhaps someone at the school could provide me with more information about your people's ways and philosophy."

"They offer classes, and you are more than welcome to inquire. Now if you don't mind, I have a painter to prepare for." From the shimmy that accompanied the words, Spencer wondered if nude modeling was one of the services Alohabar provided.

"One last thing," Spencer asked, "We would like to take a blood sample to confirm your lack of infection."

"I told you already, I do not exchange bodily fluids with anyone."

"But I've heard you have excellent medical care here." Spencer did his best to show his sincerely good intentions, since he knew he couldn't compete on acting ability. "Your medical people must occasionally require bodily fluids for tests. We have already agreed to provide immunizations to many of your people to prevent a parasitic disease known as Second Childhood. Perhaps as our medic gives you your immunization he could collect a small sample of blood to test."

Alohabar snapped his fingers and a figure in black appeared through the curtains at the corner. She had a knife in hand and several others visibly sheathed about her person. At a twitch of his fingers, the woman moved to where Alohabar could whisper in her ear. She kept watch over the entire room as she listened. When he finished, she moved behind him, maintaining her view of all present, and whispered back.

Finally Alohabar said, "Your medic alone may touch me."

The guard woman held her position as Juarez quickly took the needed sample and gave the immunization through a slit that Alohabar flipped open in his sleeve. When the medic finished, he placed a small round bandage and backed away.

"Thank you," Spencer said. "If you think of anything else, please feel free to contact us."

Alohabar's forced smile as good as promised that would never happen. "I have enjoyed an interesting morning in your presence." He nodded a clear dismissal.

Spencer noticed that Sheppard waited patiently by the door as they all exited. Then, having not spoken at all previously, he said to Alohabar, "We'll just let you move on to something more comfortable."

Spencer wished he could know what the comforter thought of that. A quick glance to Ronon suggested he'd heard similar lines from Sheppard before and was unconcerned.

They made their way to the school entrance on the other side of the garden area, where Spencer quickly found a professor interested in comparing philosophies and psychological theories, although he'd heard of nothing like the ritual Spencer described. Ronon stayed at the school entrance, watching Spencer as Sheppard and McKay followed Juarez into the courtyard. An orderly procession of students and others had gathered to be immunized, and no one seemed to object if Juarez collected blood samples at the same time.

An indignant shout of "No!" and "Dr. Reid!" suddenly rang across the garden. Spencer was in motion before he had time to wonder why Alohabar would call for him now when he'd been certain the man would never follow up. Somewhere in his sprint across the garden, it occurred to him that a customer wanting to paint the comforter might intend to put "paint" on his body rather than on canvas or paper.

As he ran for the front entrance to the tent with gun drawn, Spencer saw the fourth wall's curtains had been drawn shut. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ronon with blaster in hand circling around to the back corner where the black-clad guard had previously entered. Not having trained for situations involving cloth walls, Spencer approached the front opening from the side, as if it were a solid door.

Pushing gun first past the golden fabric, he saw Alohabar pinned beneath a larger man on his oversized beanbag chair. The larger man didn't look particularly Athosian, but Spencer had noticed Teyla's people were quite diverse in appearance. For now he would assume the assailant was Siban. As Spencer expected, Siban was holding a paint brush like a weapon above Alohabar. The comforter was using both hands to keep the brush wielding arm away from him. Unfortunately, the larger man was tightening his free hand around Alohabar's throat.

"Let him go." Spencer shouted. "Put down the paint brush and no one needs to get hurt."

"We need him," the attacker said.

"Is he any use to you dead?" Spencer based his words on the profile he'd developed for Phillips back on Earth.

"I do not intend to kill him. He only needs to release my arm."

Light blue paint was now dripping from the brush. Spencer was certain analysis would find it to be contaminated semen. From outside the tent, he heard Ronon grunting and the impacts of hand to hand combat. Having more than one assailant shifted Spencer's strategy.

"Siban, we have you surrounded. Release his throat and the brush now, or I will shoot you." Spencer took a step closer and forward to be certain he could take out the painter without hurting Alohabar.

In that moment, Siban pounced like a wild thing. He pushed off from Alohabar's still struggling body and rammed his shoulder into Spencer. Spencer heard his gun fire upward as his spine and head hit the floor of the platform tent.

A ragged scream of, "Help!" came from the half strangled comforter.

There was a ripping sound from the corner, then a flash of light and numbness.

#

Waking up to a headache was nothing new to Spencer. This one seemed mild, a general soreness radiating from the top of his neck. All of his muscles ached, and he felt bruises forming along his shoulder and spine. At least he was in a bed. Then the attack in Alohabar's tent flooded back into his mind. He saw Siban pouncing, Alohabar sprawled awkwardly behind him. Spencer felt himself hit the floor, pinned beneath the large Athosian who still had his paintbrush in hand. The sound of his gun firing upward. Alohabar screaming. The ripping sound and flash of bright light.

Waking up on a bed was a surprise. Opening his eyes to see the Atlantis infirmary was reassuring.

There was no one by his bed. No Ronon. No Carson. No medical personnel at all.

He wondered how long he'd been out. His limbs didn't prickle and hurt as they had after the zat stunned him, but he guessed from the ripping sound and bright light that Ronon's blaster must also have a stun setting. Clearly its effects lasted longer than those of a zat if they'd had time to bring him here. Spencer made a mental note to study whatever was known about other alien weapons he might encounter.

As his eyes began to focus better and he came fully awake, Spencer could see the infirmary was mostly empty.

There was activity at the far end, around the only other occupied bed. Spencer listened as Carson asked basic health questions. The moment he called the patient Siban, Spencer struggled to get out of bed.

His coordination was no worse than usual. Ronon's version of a stunner was much less disruptive than a zat in that way. Spencer was also pleased to find his clothes and shoes still in place on his body, right down to his mismatched socks.

He made his way across the infirmary to the end of Siban's bed. Spencer was glad to see the young Athosian was restrained, in a comfortable, medically appropriate way. The man looked at him with warm familiarity and asked, "Why would you have shot me?"

Flipping into interrogation mode, Spencer ignored the question. "Who sent you to paint Alohabar?"

Carson lowered his brows in annoyance, but didn't interrupt.

Siban relaxed his shoulders, but Spencer could see from the medical monitors how his pulse sped up. "His spirit calls to us as does yours."

"His spirit called you all the way to Shan Mal?" Spencer leaned against the end of the bed, partly in response to his aching shoulder and back, but partly to encourage the younger man to talk.

"His people had hidden themselves and their true nature from the Wraith, but they will be welcome among us."

"Us?" Spencer tried to keep the man talking. It required little pretense from him and was mostly a matter of saying less and letting his sincere curiosity and interest shine through.

"The Wraith distorted the use and valuation of the gifts. We were never meant to be alone. Now we will reach our true potential."

"And what would that be?"

"This cannot be told. We must become."

"The paint would have made Alohabar become like you?"

"All that I am and more. He and his people have preserved a natural gift we cannot yet encompass."

"We?" Spencer asked. But he saw Siban shut down at his query. "There were others with you on Shan Mal, weren't there?"

"What happened to them?" Siban asked.

Spencer looked to Beckett for the first time. The way the doctor shook his head suggested any others were dead, but Spencer did not think that would help his strategy at the moment. "I don't know. Who else was with you?"

Siban did not answer.

"Do you have a way to check in and tell them you're all right?"

Siban did not answer.

"Perhaps after you rest we can work something out." Spencer patted the end of the bed and tried to look calm as he walked away. Instead of heading back to the bed where he'd woken up, Spencer made his way to Carson's office and sat down to wait.

The doctor joined him within two minutes. "At least you didn't leave the infirmary. Next time, stay in bed until my staff clears you."

"I assume you tested me for any contaminated DNA?"

"Aye, you were clean. Alohabar had some drops of paint on his skin and clothes, but not on his face or mucus membranes. The scanner was able to detect and decontaminate in minutes. We ran a final scan and then moved him to a beta site before he woke up. We're still cautious about showing the full scope of our medical technology and Atlantis to cultures we've just met."

"Is he still there? Could I speak with him?"

"Sheppard wanted to meet once you were awake. I'll set that up and you can ask him. Just let me give you a quick medical check first."

#

Carson accompanied Spencer to the meeting with Woolsey and the team from Shan Mal. "Where's Ronon?" Spencer asked as soon as they were all seated again at the triangular table.

Sheppard answered, "He insisted on finishing the planned mission to Sateda. I had Lorne's team on standby anyway, in case we ran into trouble, so I sent them along."

Spencer's stomach clenched. He'd been looking forward to visiting Sateda and any surviving libraries there. Moreover, he'd thought Ronon wanted him along, however conflicted his emotions might be about returning. It was something they had planned together. Spencer felt an echo of the hurt he'd felt when Emily turned out to be alive and half the BAU team had kept the secret from him. He knew that wasn't fair. Sateda was Ronon's home. If he didn't want to postpone the mission or even if he'd intentionally left Spencer behind, Spencer knew it was irrational to feel rejected or betrayed. Whatever was happening between them was still new and as Ronon pointed out, they were making their own rules as they went. Anyway, he had work to do. "I'd like to question Alohabar and anyone remaining who came with Siban."

"Yeah, well," Sheppard rubbed at the back of his neck. "One of them seems to have been our old friend Michael. That guy just can't die enough." He shrugged. "I'm afraid Ronon reacted with extreme prejudice. He managed to take out Michael and two of his henchmen before your gun went off inside. Seems he mostly saves the stun setting on that blaster for us." Spencer didn't know what to say. He was appalled, but he hadn't seen whatever situation Ronon found behind the tent. On Earth killing three suspects that way would have been cause for suspension and an inquiry. But if one of them was actually Michael, well, Spencer had read all the reports. He didn't think he was being speciesist to consider Michael a criminal psychopath, with his own unique versions of the charm, mimicry, and manipulation that tended to accompany that antisocial personality disorder. Besides, he was supposed to be dead.

"My preliminary autopsy confirmed it," Carson said, "He's a clone, created with refinements to the process that created me. Biological dating processes suggest he was created within months of the original's demise. There are no signs of the fall that ended his predecessor's life, and I'd guess the cloning option was set up in advance as a failsafe."

McKay sputtered at Carson wide-eyed, "You mean there could be more of him now? An infinite number of diseased megalomaniac Goth wannabes with delusions of understanding science?"

As Carson shifted his weight, Spencer was pretty sure he nudged a foot against Rodney's under the table. "Unless much has changed, he does not have the power supply or equipment to make more than one clone at a time. He might be able to stockpile spare bodies, but the mental implant process is inherently painful and difficult."

Rodney quieted at that, and maybe pressed a foot or knee to comfort Carson under the table, which made Spencer wonder why there weren't more rumors about the two of them being together. He'd heard several rumors linking Sheppard to McKay or to a whole string of conquests, mostly female, which only proved to Spencer how differently people saw the world. He read Sheppard as either asexual or gray sexual and often poking fun at more sexual people's attractions or assumptions. But he was pretty sure Sheppard, McKay, and Beckett had some connection that ran even deeper than what Sheppard's Gate team shared, which was saying a lot.

"From my preliminary profile of Michael," Spencer said, "He's too well organized and dominant to view another version of himself being present at the same time as anything but a threat."

"Could you explain why you have a preliminary profile for someone we believed dead before you arrived in Pegasus?" Woolsey asked.

"Occupational hazard—my brain turns information on an unsub into a profile. Even when he was believed dead, Dr. Carson suspected Michael's influence in developing the current genetic modifications. His grandiose thinking and need for dominance suggest that with each population Michael designed, he was trying to create an army that would not only obey him but be entirely devoted to him in all ways."

"You think he's behind all of this?" Sheppard asked.

"The overall plan, quite possibly. I am surprised he showed up in person to infect Alohabar, but Siban said Alohabar's people had 'gifts' that they had hidden from the Wraith. He also mentioned being drawn to their spirits. It could be that Michael wished to visit Alohabar in person for reasons beyond infecting and abducting one prominent individual." Spencer looked to Jaurez who'd sat quietly through the meeting so far. "Did anyone you tested have the genetic variant already?"

"No, but I'm running a complete population profile on their genetics. Perhaps we'll find some genetic basis for the 'gifts' in question." Juarez looked excited at the research prospect and Spencer wondered how long the man had been in Pegasus and how often he gated to new worlds.

Beckett's eyes flicked nervously to Sheppard, who didn't acknowledge the look at all. The doctor said quietly to Jaurez, "Talk to me when you're analyzing results. I have a few ideas."

Woolsey caught Spencer's eye and asked, "Are the people of Shan Mal still in danger if Michael has another clone waiting to take over?"

"Quite possibly. I need to question the comforter about what transpired between him and Siban before he called for help. Then perhaps we should confer with someone on Shan Mal about taking suitable precautions."

"We could set up an alarm for other Gates, something that activates when infected people or materials pass through," McKay said as if it were easy.

"You can do that?" Spencer asked. "Could you do it for all the Gates?"

"In time, but there would have to be someone there to hear the alarm and take action. They wouldn't have any of the containment protocols we have on Atlantis."

"Could you do that for all the contagion alerts that activate quarantines on Atlantis?" Beckett asked.

McKay suddenly became more alert, eyes shifting between Beckett and Sheppard. "Hypothetically, but if the locals can't do anything about it other than kill infected visitors—and while biology is barely a science on Earth, some societies here lack even a rudimentary understanding of disease vectors—it's not clear whether modifying all the Gates that way would lead to better health practices or to increased violence."

"Perhaps a committee could follow up on that," Woolsey said with a sharp smile. "Such a device might become a prime trade item."

McKay groaned and waved a hand. "I'll wait for your squishy-brained people to sort out what they want before I waste any of my hard scientist's time on it."

"Whatever you develop for Shan Mal to test for the current threat is clearly higher priority and can serve as a prototype for later work," Beckett said cheerfully. "I'll send you details on the genetic markers and the carrier virus."

Rodney opened his mouth to argue, but Sheppard bumped shoulders with him from the side. "Let's grab a snack from the mess and you can set some minions to work before we gear up to question Alohabar and escort him home."

Every muscle in Rodney's body seemed to shift from hostile to only slightly frantic—which Spencer thought of as McKay's base state. "There better be blue jello."

#

The beta site was cloudy when they arrived, so Spencer couldn't be sure if the natural light differed from sunlight on Earth. Mostly it seemed gloomy.

The air pressure made Spencer's ears uncomfortable, and he yawned trying to offset the pressure differential on his eardrums. It didn't help. He thought the planet's air pressure was higher than on Atlantis, and maybe the gravity as well. As they walked towards a rapid deployment shelter with the standard Earth medical symbol of a red cross, Spencer wondered what sort of psychology went into choosing a beta site that felt oppressive from the moment of arrival.

Before they reached the medical building, Alohabar came striding out with two Marine medics at his sides. "So good to see you again. I'm sure you intended no disrespect, but I have been kept waiting for over an hour for what I'm told is a mandatory escort home." The comforter kept his head high and his tone light, but made his displeasure clear with every word. "I'm sure you have no wish to disappoint those who have a claim on my time for today."

"As soon as you tell us exactly what happened between you and Siban before _you called out for my help_ ," Spencer emphasized the last few words, "we'll see you safely home."

Alohabar lowered his eyelids to form slits. It made what could be seen of his hazel eyes even more striking against the warm orange of his skin "I wish I could help, but my reputation is built on discretion."

"Commendable," Spencer said, "but the man tried to infect you with a disease that would affect your brain. He had three associates outside, one of them a partially transformed Wraith. They were waiting to abduct you. Until we stop them, you and your people will continue to be targets."

Alohabar took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders back. "I have only your word for this. I have worked with you in good faith so far, because you did stop what I believed to be an attack on my person. But then your burly guard"—Alohabar looked around pointedly in a way that emphasized Ronon's absence—"stunned both you and me, and I woke up here. I cannot rule out that you were part of an abduction plot from the start."

Dr. McKay snorted. "And people think I'm paranoid and ungrateful."

"Rodneeeey," Sheppard said warningly, from the side of his mouth. He kept Alohabar in his sight the entire time. "Listen, your own people saw the bodies and parts of the fight outside your tent. They gave permission for us to take you for treatment and to neutralize the infected paint you were splattered with." Alohabar's eyes flicked momentarily down to where his previously pristine white sleeve now displayed a few spots of light blue. "Once you've confirmed our story with them, will you tell Dr. Reid what he needs to know to catch these criminals?"

The comforter gave a tight nod. "If any variation of a Wraith was involved then, yes. No one could question my reputation over that."

They made their way through the Gate with the Colonel in front, Spencer and McKay in the middle, and one of the Marine medics escorting Alohabar at the rear.

The same greeter, in what appeared to be a shinier version of his earlier white outfit, met them near the top of the hill. "Colonel Sheppard, we are pleased to welcome your party back. I trust your concerns regarding Alohabar proved unfounded?"

"Actually, we should talk with whoever oversees your defenses," Sheppard replied in full military commander mode.

The greeter slowly raised an eyebrow and Alohabar rushed forward, positioning himself behind the man and using a hand gesture to summon one of the black clad door guards. "I request an immediate inquiry. Who gave permission for me to be taken off planet alone? What happened to my personal guard and who will compensate me for this upset and my lost time?"

"Let us all remain calm and aware of where we are. You request an action of counsel. Colonel Sheppard requests an audience with counsel. As it happens"—the man paused as if it wasn't completely obvious how staged the whole situation was—"I believe they are in session awaiting your return."

#

The council turned out to be six men and women, probably all older than Colonel Sheppard, but some not by much. They sat on cushions behind a low table on a raised platform at one end of a large tent. Each wore what looked like a fancy bathrobe made from shiny embroidered fabrics, often in colors that, at least to Spencer's aesthetic sense, clashed with the regional skin pigmentation. Black clad guards stood to each side of the platform. The row of stern faces staring down at him reminded Spencer of his recent interrogation by a condescending Senate Committee. He felt a poisonous mix of temper, anxiety and fear rising up in him.

"I don't think I should take the lead on this," Spencer whispered to Sheppard.

Sheppard nodded and stepped forward to talk but was cut off by Alohabar practically leaping to the center of the room.

"I require recompense. I was taken off world and touched without my personal consent." The comforter threw his hands out wide and low in a dramatic but elegant gesture.

"Hold on a second," Sheppard said. "My people were given explicit permission to evacuate Alohabar to provide emergency medical treatment."

A heavyset council member at the far right said, "Records show the Lead Healer and Head of Security on morning duty both gave permission."

"I awoke alone, without escort, in the hands of foreigners on an alien planet!" Alohabar sniffed.

"Our most advanced medical technology is kept at a secure site. We prevented you from being infected and subjected to possible mind control by a mutated Wraith." Sheppard locked his jaw and waited as most of the council members gasped.

"You said you killed the mutated Wraith," Alohabar replied.

"We killed that one, but we're trying to find out if there are more. That's why Dr. Reid needs to question you about what happened."

"First, I demand to see this supposed Wraith." Alohabar pointed an arm toward Sheppard as if he was the Wraith in questions. Spencer thought the comforter's dramatic arm motions must draw on some local cultural referent, something like opera or Kabuki Theater. They were captivating despite his ever lowering opinion of the man.

"Oh for heaven's sake," McKay broke in waving a tablet in front of him, "He was a disease risk too. Our Head of Medicine dissected him to prove he was a clone and determine how long ago he was created. If your Lead Healer couldn't handle your decontamination, do you think anyone on this primitive backwater was prepared to deal with this." He held the tablet directly in front of Alohabar's face. Spencer could see from over two yards away that it showed a nearly human face with strange pointy teeth, gill-like gaps in both cheeks, and widespread nostrils above a bloody torso with several holes blasted straight through. When Alohabar turned away, McKay paraded in front of the table giving the entire council an eyeful of Michael's bloody corpse. "Something about your people and Alohabar in particular had this freakish Wraith and his band of diseased humans targeting you in particular. Our advanced science is your best hope—this galaxy's best hope of stopping this." He waved the tablet violently and wandered away muttering "morons" under his breath.

Spencer felt strangely calmer after McKay's display.

"Our first duty is to our people," a councilor in the middle said. "Whatever decisions the Lead Healer and Head of Security made at the time, we were not consulted. The council did not assemble until after your people had left the planet with Alohabar and his assailant unconscious and with three other corpses you claimed were kidnappers, one that you claim was an altered Wraith, in your spaceship."

"I'm sure you understand why neither our people nor yours wanted to delay decontamination and treatment." The Colonel was slipping into a more diplomatic mode, something that might be necessary but seemed less natural to him than his military façade.

"We are trying to understand," the same council member continued. "You must also try to understand that it is damaging to a comforter's reputation to be handled in this way. Alohabar is within his rights to demand restitution."

"And what sort of restitution would your people expect?" Sheppard's words slowed and his diplomatic tone edged toward threat.

The councilor who'd been speaking looked to Alohabar who answered, "Dr. Reid should remain in my service as security until the threat is resolved."

McKay snorted. "Security, more like hostage. You're right, Sheppard, he definitely deserves the title most likely to—"

"McKaaay," Sheppard drew out the last name just as he had done with the scientist's first name earlier. Either seemed to work surprisingly well to quiet the man.

Spencer thought back to the scientist's comment that two data points weren't enough to designate Spencer the most likely to be captured off world. Evidently three was. Except in this case, he hadn't exactly been captured, at least not yet.

"I see no reason why I should build a contagion warning system for this planet's Ring of the Ancestors." The fact that McKay specifically used the local phrasing rather than "Gate" proved to Spencer that the Chief Scientist was at least attempting some form of diplomatic maneuver. "It's not as if they care about their own security or deserve the time or efforts of a scientific genius such as myself."

"McKay…" Sheppard's soft rising tone was followed by a whisper behind his hand that should have been too soft for McKay to hear. Spencer was standing just behind the two men, and he was the only one who could see the Colonel's lips moving. But McKay's eyes went big and he stomped back to a position farther away from the council and their guards.

"Perhaps the term of Dr. Reid's indenture could be ended once a suitable security system is provided and put into place," a councilor who had not spoken before suggested with a practiced lack of expression. Spencer noted the woman as potentially the most dangerous mind on the council. Her calm but pointed suggestion reminded him of Rossi back at the BAU.

"Whether you call it service, indenture, or being held hostage," Sheppard began in clipped military tones, "No such arrangement would be acceptable to my people."

"Of course not," said the heavyset council member who'd earlier cited records of permissions given. "However, as one scholar to another, I wish to invite Dr. Reid to visit our school and attend whatever classes he may choose, as our guest, while other security matters are settled." Spencer suddenly placed the man as one who had stood off to the side when Spencer debated philosophy with teachers at the school while Juarez gave inoculations that morning.

"If you plan to play games with words—" Sheppard began.

Spencer cut him off, recognizing what might be the best compromise on offer. "Actually, some time at the school might help my investigations into why this planet and Alohabar in particular were targeted in the first place. Of course, we'd need to agree on security precautions for my own sake, which might also benefit others here in the interim. I would need at least one person from our military with a spaceship in case of another abduction attempt and a medic to screen for the virus. Also, at least one more guard at the school or wherever I go."

The woman who reminded Spencer of Rossi said, "A guard inspecting visitors at the Ring would be bad for business. Your uniforms and use of spy gear"—she gestured to her ear, suggesting their radios—"already threaten our sense of peace and privacy."

"More so than a Wraith?" McKay muttered.

Sheppard whispered under his breath and then gave Spencer a long look to show he understood and would follow Spencer's play on this, although he didn't look happy. "The guard and spaceship at the Ring can be invisible and we can agree on a cover story for the medic. There would be no interference unless you are attacked or someone comes through with the virus. Any medic or guard leaving the spaceship could wear acceptable local clothing and only use their radio in an emergency, as could Dr. Reid if he's willing."

A long and detailed negotiation of expectations on both sides led to an agreement to hide a cloaked Jumper by the Gate and allow a medic to test all new arrivals, so long as the medic was courteous and wore local dress.

#

_Spencer searched the silent house for his mom. His dad had left them with just a note a few months back. Now, there were more and more days when coming home meant guessing where his mom was and, more importantly, where her mind was at. He put off searching her bedroom until last even though she hid there most often. Those were the worst days._

_"Mom, are you in here?" he asked as he opened the door. His voice sounded younger than his ten years, and Spencer reminded himself that he had to be the adult for now. "It's me, Spencer. I'm ready to help with whatever you need."_

_His mom's large bed was a mess of tangled sheets. Her bedspread hung over the writing table._

_Spencer scuffed his shoes on the floor, making his approach to the hiding place obvious. He knew better than to startle his schizophrenic mother. Unfortunately, the reverse wasn't true._

_A hand shot out from the bedspread fort and grabbed his calf. Spencer led out a startled squeak._

_The hand tried to pull him closer, into the fort._

_"Mom, do you want something to eat? I'm hungry. I could get us both crackers and peanut butter."_

_The hand tugged again and again. Spencer squatted down and pushed between the flaps where the arm reached out. His mom pulled him tightly to her side. Her skin was sweaty. She was still in her nightgown and clearly hadn't showered today. Spencer loved his mom, but he hated being grabbed and clung to. He wanted to sit at their kitchen table and talk with her over crackers and peanut butter._

_She hissed in his ear, "We can't go out there. It's not safe."_

_They stayed inside the blanket fort all afternoon and evening. Whispering, they recited poems to each other from memory. It was something they shared. Something good. Spencer hated the bedspread fort. He hated not being able to leave or eat. The flapping walls closed him in without keeping him safe. They blocked the sunlight, and when the sun set it was very dark. Finally his mom fell asleep. Spencer crawled out to eat and do his homework._

#

Spencer woke when he hit the floor. He landed with a thump on the wooden platform that supported the partitioned tent he'd been assigned to share with other students. For a moment, he hoped the sound hadn't been loud or unusual enough to disturb anyone else.

Sergeant Stackhouse appeared with the light from his P90 shining on Spencer's bed. He'd been standing guard outside the corner curtains that separated Spencer from a type of tent hallway and the sleeping space for the next student over.

"Are you okay, sir?" Stackhouse lowered his gun but didn't let go.

The question was loud enough that anyone awake must have heard. As if it wasn't bad enough to have some Marine see him sitting on the floor in his pants and undershirt. The Sergeant would probably feel obliged to mention it in some report.

"I'm fine," Spencer whispered. "Occasionally the electrical impulses bleed over between different states of sleep. Motions which would not normally occur during REM sleep are activated." At the blank look from Stackhouse, Spencer said, "So I fell out of bed."

Stackhouse nodded. If he thought poorly of Spencer or this ridiculous assignment to stand guard as people slept in a tent with dozens of hanging cloth walls inside, there was no sign of it in his facial expression or body language. "Anything you need?"

"I don't suppose you have a spare flashlight? I don't think I'll be going back to sleep, and I have some writing to do."

Stackhouse immediately pulled a flashlight from a pocket on his tac vest.

"You won't need it?" Spencer whispered.

"I have the light on my P90 and a headlamp."

"Thanks."

The Sergeant nodded and left. Spencer wrote up his reports for the previous day and updated his own case notes. Then he started writing a whole slew of letters to his mom for Penelope to send out in sequence. There was a time when he'd written to her every day. But the letters would bunch up in the mail and arrive sporadically anyway. Once he started working in the field with the BAU, he didn't dare to mail them while on assignment, in case an unsub intercepted one and targeted his mom. So he'd started writing what he could in batches when he had time and leaving the letters in numbered envelopes with Penelope. She was also the emergency contact in case his mother's care facility couldn't reach Spencer. It was sobering to think that neither Penelope nor his mother could know that he was being held captive, albeit very diplomatically, in another Galaxy as he wrote.

While there was more he had to leave out while working in this new position, he was used to writing around the upsetting and confidential parts of his work at the BAU. Now he could tell his mom about spending some "vacation" time at an unusual school surrounded by gardens that he'd discovered in the course of his work. When he ran out of things he wanted to say about that, he started writing about Ronon. He couldn't mention how worried he was that his lover took off on a mission without him, leaving him unconscious in an infirmary. Instead, he wrote about the unique and wonderful man who had befriended him and shared childhood stories about his home and the culture he grew up in. Now that friend was returning to his birthplace to check libraries there for information he only half remembered, and Spencer was eager to hear all about it afterward. He didn't mention his insecurity. If he wondered why Ronon hadn't included him or whether they'd still be friends or more when Ronon came back, that wasn't the sort of thing he'd ever put in his letters.

#

The day of classes that followed was interesting. Several professors were eager to talk with Spencer, inviting him to share breakfast and lunch with them. If he showed interest in a subject, they invited him to attend any current class that was relevant. He suspected that the class on local history might not have intended to spend the morning discussing the history of people's "gifts" on Shan Mal. However, none of the students objected when their spritely older teacher brought Spencer in as a special guest and started asking the students what they knew of different gifts.

There were no books and no raised hands. Students sat on cushions around the room, mostly facing the front where the teacher, who called herself Sapano, had dragged Spencer to sit beside her. Sapano was a beautiful older woman with thin white hair that looked like short tinsel over her orange scalp and neck. She easily sat cross legged on a cushion as Spencer seated himself a little more awkwardly beside her. There was only one uncomfortable moment, when Spencer pulled a notebook out of his shoulder bag and asked if he could write down some notes. But Sopano and her students allowed it. Most of them had no experience with written language, and seemed to devalue it as a substitute for remembering. Spencer had no insecurities about his memory, but writing notes helped him organize his thoughts. It especially helped with words the translation protocols would have buzzed out. He wrote those phonetically with whatever context he could gather. He wasn't sure how many of the students' suggestions were based on fact and how many were pure fiction, but he ended up with a list that included among other items: one or more heightened senses, astral projection, picking up other's emotions, sensing Wraith, seeing past mental projections, and exceptionally detailed memory. The details overlapped thoroughly with the Earth description of Sentinels and Guides and what Ronon knew of Satedan beliefs about Trackers, but the students on Shan Mal showed no interest in titles or archetypes.

Later in the day he visited a sort of choral singing practice and then a class that seemed to be a cross between home economics and sex ed. His last class of the day covered what Alohabar had claimed as his specialty: emotive touch. Spencer attempted to stay on the sidelines and just observe, but the teacher, Bantulan, insisted Spencer participate in a "simple exercise."

He was seated knee to knee facing a blond woman, probably the only student in the class close to his age. Unfortunately, he felt an aversion to her from the start. She looked a bit like JJ, with blond hair and relatively light skin, a sort of peaches and cream color as opposed to the warmer coloration of most long term residents of the planet.

Spencer had talked about JJ in therapy on Atlantis, but hadn't really worked past his feelings of betrayal. He was beginning to think he'd given her the benefit of the doubt too many times. She'd been kind about their one "date" shortly after she joined the team, and she'd expressed her guilt and concern after Spencer ended up being tortured on the Hankel case. But looking back, Spencer realized JJ never followed through for him. She didn't ask how he was doing a day or two after traumatic events, and she was casually dismissive of both his interests and concerns. In some ways, she treated him as naïve or backwards, and maybe he'd let others on the BAU team treat him that way. But as he reevaluated who he'd been at the BAU and who he wanted to be now, he knew he'd never go to someone like that again if he was hurting or grieving day after day. The fact that she'd lied to him about Emily being dead added insult to injury. The fact that he'd opened himself up to her and cried on her couch for ten weeks seemed more of an error in judgment on his part.

When the woman across from him placed both her hands on his, Spencer jerked back. He'd let himself drift too far into his own thoughts and failed to stifle the instinctive reaction. Bantulan instructed the class to ask each other about their day. To listen and touch in ways that seemed natural. "As with massage, I encourage you to keep some point of contact at all times," he said.

The blond woman reached her right hand out more slowly to loosely grasp Spencer's left. "You're new here. Perhaps you could tell me about your first experiences this morning."

The way she said it was smooth and calm. It sounded entirely too scripted to Spencer. She started to circle her thumb on his palm. Something about the touch repulsed him. His skin tightened as if trying to withdraw cell by cell.

Spencer pulled his hand away as if burned. "I'm sorry. I can't do this." He rose from the floor and nodded to the instructor as he quickly left the room.

Stackhouse's replacement, a Lieutenant Miller, followed him away from the classroom and into one of many lush, well maintained gardens. When they'd reached a quiet spot where they shouldn't be overheard, Spencer said, "Look, I'm not sure what the procedure is here, but I'd like updates on a few things: how much longer McKay expects the monitoring device for this Gate to take, what progress Beckett is making on a cure, how those involved with Namar's case are doing, and whether Ronon with Lorne's team recovered anything useful from Sateda. Can you tell me anything or ask someone to send me information?"

"I can ask at shift change in three hours, sir."

Spencer wanted to ask if the team from Sateda had at least returned before Miller started his shift on Shan Mal. But the Marine already looked uncomfortable with Spencer's barely concealed emotions, so Spencer just nodded and walked around the garden until he had mostly calmed down.

Three hours later, he was promised updates would be sent for him with the replacement shift the next morning.

That night he moved his bedding to the floor so he wouldn't risk falling out of bed again.

#

Spencer came awake suddenly. He grabbed hold of the flashlight beside him. Before his eyes were open enough to register early dawn light through the fabric ceiling and walls, he flicked the beam to light the entrance in the corner.

"Good it's not a gun," Ronon said. His right hand rested on his blaster. His left held a locked metal case.

"What time is it?" Spencer asked as he set down and turned off the flashlight.

"Past dawn," Ronon said without missing a beat. When Spencer groaned he said, "Brought food. Left it near the Gate."

Spencer groaned but pulled on his purple overshirt, tan sweater, boots, and checked the sidearm in his messenger bag. His hosts had decided Spencer's regular clothing would be acceptable among the students, who now came from an assortment of planets anyway. He'd kept the gun from his thigh holster with a bit of initial misdirection and sleight of hand. Ronon had shown up with his usual leathers and blaster, evidently without question.

Outside it was foggy and cold. Spencer followed Ronon to an outcropping low on the hill, halfway back to the Gate. A Marine issue sleeping bag had been unzipped and spread on the hard ground like a picnic blanket. At its center sat a cloth bag of food and two large insulated travel mugs. "Tell me that's coffee."

"Mochaccino," Ronon said as he set down the metal case.

Spencer stepped forward and hugged him. "You're forgiven."

"How angry were you?" The big man pulled him closer, and they fit together perfectly.

"Only two or three percent, but another ten percent was what I might call annoyed. Ten or fifteen percent was just uncertain. I had to wait to hear your perspective."

"I killed Michael and two of his followers. Know that's not the Earth way. Not usually the Satedan way either. But Michael was using them as human shields. He might have gotten away. I killed them even knowing you might hate me."

"I couldn't hate you." Spencer tucked his face beneath the collar of Ronon's coat and breathed in the warm, musky air. "Then you went to Sateda to avoid me?"

"Needed time alone." Ronon pulled a hand sideways across his chest, and Spencer knew there was pain behind that admission. Maybe seven years as a Runner had something to do with it, and Spencer didn't know how hard he should push.

"With Lorne's team?"

"Before talking."

"I wanted to go there with you." Spencer tried not to choke as his throat swelled around the words.

"I'm sorry." Ronon buried his face in Spencer's hair. It started a sparking sensation that seemed to travel through his bones and warm Spencer from the inside out.

"Apology accepted."

"What's the rest?" Ronon ran a hand up and down Spencer's back.

"What?" Spencer's mind felt slow in a way that only happened when he was wrapped up with Ronon.

"The other seventy to seventy-eight percent?"

"Why I'm hugging you."

Ronon hugged him back until they were both ready to let go. Then they sat on their picnic blanket with their still fairly warm mochaccinos. The cloth bag turned out to contain a variety of breakfast rolls and fruit. "Didn't want you turning too orange," Ronon said.

"You wouldn't like me orange?" Spencer teased.

"Eat what you want." Ronon made a grab for the last of the apple muffin in Spencer's hand. Spencer wasn't quick enough to save it. Then Ronon leaned over and fed it to him, swiping his fingers across Spencer's lower lip.

"Mmm." Spencer couldn't stop staring into Ronon's eyes.

"C'mere. You look cold."

Spencer let himself be pulled in front of Ronon. With the larger man's stomach and chest warming his back, with larger legs straddling each side of his own, Spencer was in fact warm. The fact he was slightly aroused made his face and neck warm, too. They stared down at the Gate and the trails that led up to the school and away to a lake. Everything sparkled in the slanted morning light as the fog began to lift.

Ronon picked up a deep red berry and pushed it gently between Spencer's lips. It was all Spencer could do not to groan as a group of students passed by on a trail below them just as a sharp sweetness filled his mouth. As he opened eyes he didn't remember closing, he knew the students had seen them.

"I don't think we should be doing this here," Spencer said.

"What? Eating?"

"Don't play dumb with me."

"'Course not. That's why I'm your messenger." Ronon fed him a tangy purple berry, and Spencer was pretty sure Ronon had chosen the breakfast foods with exactly this in mind. "McKay says the monitoring device is complete but they need to test it today. Beckett says Phillips tests as completely cured, but he doesn't remember much from while he was infected. Teyla wants to start treatments with Torren right away. She's also working with Namar to develop a community action campaign. Lorne and some psychologist are handling all sorts of paperwork and therapy stuff for Diaz and Lowe. Siban is refusing to speak. They haven't decided what to do about him. Maybe use him to test the Gate device. Beckett sent you a tablet full of science stuff. Has to be locked up when you're not using it." Ronon patted the metal case he'd been carrying and, without saying a work out loud, he showed Spencer the code and two trick latches to unlock it.

"I brought you the best book I found on gifts. There are more books back on Atlantis." Ronon pulled out a volume much like the one he kept in his nightstand, except this one was covered with blue leather and had words stamped into the front. Spencer carefully sounded out the words in Satedan and then translated them into English: stories of our people.

"Yeah. The stories themselves I'd heard growing up. But there's analysis with each story. You want to read the one about Trackers?"

"That's how you describe your gift."

"Yep, and this includes one of the <mifta> stories."

"Mifta?" Spencer asked.

"Mifta," Ronon corrected, although Spencer couldn't hear the difference. "It means central? Typical? A repeated type in other stories and life?"

"Archetypal?" Spencer asked.

"That translates to an older word in Satedan, but similar."

"We should discuss that difference sometime," Spencer said as he wriggled in excitement. "For now, do you want me to try to read this or do you want to read aloud and translate any new words. Or you could give me a summary, because I bet we have a lot to talk about."

"Always." Ronon hugged him with one arm and fed him a chunk of muffin with the other. Spencer was pleased that his body had calmed down a bit so he could enjoy the closeness without too much distraction. He still felt warm and foolishly happy.

"Won't remind you too much of what happened with Namar?" Ronon asked.

Spencer shook his head, but wanting to be more honest with Ronon said, "If it does remind me a little bit, it's better to work through that now. Self-administered desensitization has been proven effective so long as anxiety is triggered at a tolerable level in a relaxed environment. I don't think I'm going to find a much more relaxing environment than in your arms with a book, food, and this lovely view spread out beneath us."

Ronon gave a quick squeeze with his legs and opened the book to a middle chapter. Spencer admired the beautiful lettering that mostly filled each page, now that he was seeing something other than poetry. He held himself back from trying to decipher words so he could concentrate on listening to all Ronon had to say. "I'll give you the short version. When you read it you'll probably add a hundred words to your book with names of plants, snares, weapons… I'm going to focus on the people and their gifts this time."

A woman, Lihan, and a man, Lohan, make their way back from the man's people to the woman's people. With your people, it would be like coming back from their honeymoon to live in the town where the woman grew up. But when they arrive, her townspeople are all sick. A big animal, like a bear, is tearing down the grandmother's door as she screams and throws little knives while trying to protect her grandchildren.

Lohan comes from a people who make guns, and the new couple was given big guns as presents. They shoot the bear. It charges them. They have to shoot it many more times than any regular bear. It almost kills them, but they finally take it down.

Then they go house to house giving everyone water and plants that clean out the system. The townspeople are all too sick to fight or leave their beds. Those who can talk sense tell Lihan and Lohan that all the local bears have gone crazy. The bears would never attack in the town before, but now they've had three bear attacks within five days.

Lihan says the bear they killed smells wrong and the soiled bedding in the houses smells wrong in the same way. People admit they had a feast after defeating the first bear, and everyone ate some. The townspeople talk about how Lihan always had such a good sense of smell, and now she seems to be even better. She still tells them they shouldn't eat meat from crazy animals. Then she and Lohan make something with sticks and vines to pull the dead bear away without touching it. They bury it with bad smelling rocks that will keep other animals from digging it up and eating it.

Then Lohan tells Lihan how much he adores her and wants to help her people, but first they have to find some healthy food for everyone to eat. So they do that, and they leave one of their big guns with the least sick person in town. Then Lihan back tracks to where the bear came from. There is a lot of good advice about tracking and avoiding dangers, but basically, they find a creek with fish where all the bears used to live. There's a big rotting animal in it, and Lohan comes up with a clever pulley and sled system to get it out of the water so they can bury it with some more of the smelly rocks.

Before they finish, Lihan hears another bear creeping on a ledge above them. She pushes Lohan aside and the other bear falls in the pit with the diseased animal they pulled from the creek. They use their remaining gun to shoot it many, many times until it's dead. Then they finish the burial, and Lihan sniffs around to make sure all the bad meat is out of the water supply. She gets so distracted by all the smells around them that she almost drowns, but Lohan pulls her out of the water and talks her back to controlling her senses. He dries her off and cuddles her to warm her up and keep her attuned to the world of people. Then they track down one more crazy bear and shoot it a lot, but it manages to tear open Lohan's arm before it's killed. The two of them spend a long time comparing medical knowledge until his arm is very clean and treated with plants and all wrapped up.

It's dark by then, and they need sleep. Lihan intends to stay up all night listening, scenting, and basically protecting her injured mate. But part way through the night Lohan wakes up, not at all feverish or sick, and convinces her that she has to trust him and his outdoor and gun skills or their love will never last. The next day they make it back to her village and teach everyone what they learned. They also do a lot of laundry and food gathering. It's really a rather heavy handed and moralistic story, but I guess I didn't mind when I was a kid. The end.

"Does it actually say 'the end' or did you learn that from Earth people?" Spencer asked.

"Disney movies."

"Cultural corruption."

"No royalty or fancy dresses. Do you want more berries?"

"Not because I'm hungry."

Ronon coughed out a laugh and twisted his head around to kiss Spencer. It wasn't a deep kiss, but Spencer felt his heart racing and skin tingling anyway. By the time they stopped to breath, Spencer wanted nothing more than to curl up with Ronon and kiss or cuddle or—"The part in the story where Lihan almost drowns, does it actually say he talks her back to controlling her senses and cuddles her to warm her up and keep her attuned to the world of people?"

"Good listener. It mentions in the notes afterward that many Trackers claim their smell and hearing are stronger and easier to regulate if they're intimate with someone attuned to them and to the spirit plane. It also says Trackers can sometimes see the spirit animal of the person attuned to them, like they latch onto that part of the other person's gifts."

Ronon let Spencer pull away and turn so they could half face each other, Ronon's right leg still curved behind Spencer's ass. "I attended a class here that listed traits that might show up as gifts. They didn't group them into mifta like Trackers and so on, but I believe they listed all the components from your story: one or more heightened senses, grounding someone who uses heightened senses, helping someone improve heightened senses, insight into other's sensory and physical needs, picking up others' emotions, and the intuition for emotive touch that Alohabar claimed to have."

"Think that relates to how touch sensitive you are?"

"I think I'm the opposite. Maybe with you I experience something special involving touch." Spencer's eidetic memory flashed through moments of shooting heat, tingling skin, feeling as though something inexplicable passed from him to Ronon and from Ronon to him. Then he thought of how repulsed he'd been by the woman's touch. "I had a terrible moment in an emotive touch class yesterday—Oh no, guess who's coming along the path toward us?" As Ronon looked, Spencer said, "That's the teacher whose class I ran out of."

They both watched as Bantulan waved to them and then approached. The man was small with darker hair and eyes than most others on Shan Mal. He wore the basic white outfit of loose pants and wrap around shirt that most at the school seemed to prefer. Spencer saw him reach out and then pull his hand back as he grew near. "May I join you and your companion, Dr. Reid?"

Spencer nodded. "Please, sit with us, Bantulan. I'm sorry about how I reacted in your class, and please, call me Spencer. This is Ronon."

"Ronon, it is an honor to meet you." Spencer could see the man holding back when he would otherwise have reached out to touch. Spencer's sudden departure must have seemed even more unreasonable to this clearly very tactile person. It reminded Spencer of how Morgan and Penelope had learned to work around his touch aversions over time.

"Thank you. I hope I am not being too forward." Bantulan held his hands out and open. "I wanted to apologize for the distress our practice caused you. Also, there was some whispering among the students after you left class. While it does not fit within the sanctioned teachings of our school, your reaction was conspicuously similar to some old stories. I thought you might like to be informed before you overheard something out of context."

"Really, you have legends about socially awkward people fleeing classrooms?" Spencer consciously kept his words light.

"Only among the teachers." Bantulan looked as mischievous as any student in that moment. Then he visibly calmed himself and said, "The current council draws from a very modernist faction and prefers that we downplay some of the old stories and teach only about better tested and more quantifiable practices."

"But you're not of this faction?" Spencer asked.

Bantulan half closed his eyes in an expression very similar to one Alohabar had used when dissembling. "I am not of one faction or another. I have taught under three vastly different councils and maintain ties with colleagues of all persuasions. I see myself as a teacher and philosopher who values communication and a free discussion of ideas. What I want to tell you may not be truth, but it carries enough meaning that people repeat it and remember it over many generations."

While Bantulan's words and manner were studied, Spencer detected no signs of ill intent or deception. If he wanted to learn more about the inner workings of Shan Mal society, he thought Bantulan would make an excellent informant. "You've certainly piqued my curiosity."

Ronon nodded.

Bantulan smiled. "On many planets, there are tales of star crossed lovers and soul mates. On Shan Mal, it was once taught that particular gifts clustered together, and those possessing particular clusters would be drawn to each other. Some parts of this teaching could be considered merely practical and persist in a modern form. Those whose empathy helps ground others or helps to stretch and regulate heightened senses are well suited to partners with heightened senses. However, the legends took it farther than that. They suggested that those empathic individuals who best saw the spiritual plane would also feel a special tie to or spiritual resonance with one or more spiritually compatible individuals. In this tradition, which saw certain gifts as clustered, some who saw spiritual visions or spirit animal would be especially sensitive to others' emotional and sensory states. They would be drawn to an individual with a very strong spirit or pure soul who inevitably managed their heightened senses better once some sort of spirit bond or mating was complete, hence they were called bond mates."

Spencer had never thought much about the idea of soul mates. He'd assumed it was a cultural construct that met certain people's psychological needs much the way religion and patriotism did for others. But he was open-minded enough to reconsider in the face of new data. "How does this relate to me fleeing your lesson on empathic touch?"

"Empathic touch is a gift for sensing how others need to be touched, often soothing or releasing their emotions in the process. It is distinct from empathic gifts of a more spiritual nature. People who are especially attuned to the spirit plane may sense the emotions or intentions of those around them without touch. In fact, touch may be empathically overwhelming when they are opened up to the spirit plane. Those who believe in bond mates would say a spiritual connection is held open and vulnerable from the moment the destined people meet, or first touch, until their bond is firmly established. During that time, outside touch might be especially painful to one with a spiritually empathic gift. Such a person might indeed flee from a touch based lesson with someone other than their spiritual partner."

Bantulan gazed down the hill toward the Gate, clearly giving Spencer time to process what he'd said. Ronon slid his hand under Spencer's, adding that reassurance to the touch of his leg along Spencer's back.

Spencer squeezed Ronon's hand but rose to stand with Bantulan. "What about groups of more than two connecting through their gifts? Or are there any stories of people connecting to Wraith?"

"Triads and larger group relationships are common here, where empathic and touch-based gifts abound. Some claim to bond through sex or meditation, many dismiss the idea of bond mates. Many with enhanced senses feel like less of a burden if they can turn to more than one person for grounding or focus. There are stories that Wraith preferred worshippers with empathic or tactile gifts and made Runners of those with enhanced senses."

Ronon loomed suddenly at Spencer's side. It could have been a reaction to the casual mention of Runners, but Ronon was looking down.

The pale ferret that Ronon had suggested was Spencer's spirit animal was scrabbling frantically around a dark, furry animal shaped like a large raccoon. In a moment, both animals dashed down the hill toward the Gate. In the distance, Spencer saw half a dozen other creatures running or flying toward the Gate. "Are they all spirit animals?" Spencer asked.

"I can only see ours," Ronon answered.

"What do you see?" Bantulan asked, speaking faster than he ever had before.

"At least eight animals all rushing toward the Ring of the Ancestors," Spencer said, still stunned and uncertain.

The Gate began to activate, and Bantulan said, "Bond mates were also guardians. Warn your people. I'll warn the council and the school." He ran uphill.

Ronon drew his blaster, started for the Gate, and spoke into his radio the single word "incoming" all at once. Spencer scooped up his messenger bag and replaced the book in the metal case. He fumbled to position his radio by his ear and scrambled to follow the man who just might be his bond mate.

#

A Marine medic in some version of the white local dress stepped out of the tent where they were keeping the Jumper. He raised his head toward Ronon, now halfway to the Gate, and patted the outside pocket of the medical duffle he carried. Spencer understood the gesture to mean he was armed and ready as a Marine or a medic.

A deer-like animal with antlers ran right in front of him, loping toward the Gate. The medic showed no sign of noticing. Spencer took a deep breath, actually several since he was also running hard toward the Gate, and told himself he wasn't hallucinating. He had evidence from three different sources suggesting the spirit animals he saw were real in some way, further explanations would have to wait until after whatever had spooked the creatures.

The first group out of the Gate could have been Athosian traders. There were six men in woven and leather garments, posing no visible threat beyond the usual knives at their belts and ankles. When the medic approached to explain the new health screening, they appeared to listen. When a spirit animal like a small pterosaur plunged down at them, no one flinched.

A second group, also all male but in fancier leathers, passed through the Gate behind them, and the Marine medic moved to flag them down. Spencer couldn't hear what was said, but he assumed it was a peaceful request not to proceed any farther without testing, as had been negotiated with the counsel. By this point the paths above Spencer were filling up as locals, presumably summoned by Bantulan, hurried toward the Gate. Two boar-like spirit creatures charged the new arrivals at the Gate but passed right through without notice.

A gunshot cut through the morning quiet. Spencer looked for the source, suspecting the Marine, but couldn't see anything right away.

He'd reached level ground. A third group of men, wrapped in black leather and cloth, came through the still open Gate. They carried deep black bows like Spencer had seen on Utica. They were small in stature and while their heads were not covered like the girls, their eyes and skin looked very similar to what he'd seen of the Uticas. Hearing the shot ring out, they all raised their bows.

The deer like animal charged the bowmen. Only one seemed to see it, although it was right in front of them all. That one bowman shot at the deer, but the arrow passed right through. When the deer's antlers rammed into the man, he fell to the ground, but Spencer didn't see any blood or gore. He wondered if spirit animals could only affect those capable of seeing them. Even then, their effect seemed limited. At least they'd offered an early warning

Part of Spencer's brain registered the medic, half hidden by the growing attack force, struggling with two men from the initial group. One was bleeding, shot in the side, his knife held high in a hand the medic was restraining. The second attacker was trying to take the medic's gun.

Ronon ran hard coming into range of the Gate and started shooting bowmen. Spencer hoped his blaster was set to stun but didn't know how to tell as two men fell.

The Jumper that had been hidden in the tent appeared in mid-air a short distance in front of the Gate. It shot the ground with a weapon that left a hole the size of a grave.

Ronon shot four more bowmen while they stared at the ship or the smoking pit in the ground.

A fourth group poured from the Gate, and Spencer's ferret leaped at the face of Healer Nok, the Pacan who had once rutted against Spencer and forced him up a tree to escape. Spencer's gut clenched at the memory. Nok screamed, and tried to pull the spirit animal off his face even as he stumbled away from the Gate. One younger man at his side grabbed Nok's by his smoke colored cloak and steadied him, but most in the group looked at Nok as if he were deranged. Whatever gifts Michael might have been interested in, only two in his army could see spirit animals so far.

Someone whistled and the disparate groups formed up together, facing the Jumper and the tide of locals and students coming down the hill.

Spencer hesitated, noticing how few of the locals seemed to be armed. Only two of the black clothed guards were obvious in their midst. Luckily, Ronon seemed to have taken out the black-clothed archers on the opposing side. Spencer wondered what their initial battle plan had been, if they had not been impeded at the Gate. If Spencer had made the plan knowing what he did of the girls on Utica, he would have placed the archers in surrounding trees.

Spencer saw one broken off arrow protruding from Ronon's shoulder. The desire to help Ronon momentarily overwhelmed Spencer. It stole his breath like a kick to the gut. He pushed the reaction back. There wasn't time for that.

His skin prickled and his eyes were drawn down. A green and yellow snake darted toward him from the direction of the Gate. In the moment when Spencer knew it for Nok's spirit animal, his booted foot stomped down just behind the snake's head. It wasn't something Spencer had ever been trained to do. His mind churned with questions about how he'd identified the threat and how his body had reacted so fast.

The spirit creature writhed but certainly wasn't dead. Spencer didn't know if it was possible to kill a spirit animal or if a spirit snake could bite him. He didn't dare move his foot and he was still out of range to use the gun from his bag effectively.

The remaining fighters had formed a Spitz or wedge formation in lines of five, seven, and nine. Spencer's mind raced back to something his mother once read him about the Battle of Pillenreuth in 1450 where the cavalry led in such lines but hundreds followed behind on foot. He hoped there weren't hundreds still to come through the Gate.

Ronon didn't hesitate to fire on the wedge of fighters from behind and to the side. The first four men to fall hadn't even seen him. Spencer was almost certain he would only fire that way with his weapon set to stun.

One of the locals on the far side of the Jumper shouted, "Put down your weapons, or we will consider this an act of war."

Two men from the back of the formation raced out to each side trying to flank the Jumper. Ronon shot the one nearer to him. The Marine medic, who must have kept his gun but not used it since the beginning, shot the other. When the wedge pushed forward, the Jumper fired on the front line, taking down three of the first five and splattering the others with dirt and gore. Now each man that Ronon stunned seemed like a mercy.

The formation stopped in place, as men with no means to battle a spaceship wiped debris off their faces and hands. Nok, who had been near the center initially, fell unconscious with Ronon's next blast. Spencer's ferret ran to the dialing device for the Gate. Ronon's furry spirit animal followed, passing right through unseeing attackers on its way. As both spirit animals pawed frantically at the device, Spencer looked down and saw the green snake had disappeared from beneath his boot. He started running again toward Ronon.

Another team of black clad archers came through the Gate, weapons drawn. Ronon turned to stun them but an arrow grazed his left leg in the process. It fell to the ground a moment later. Before Ronon finished shooting, a man came at him from behind with a knife.

Spencer was about to shout a warning though his radio when Ronon's Tracker hearing must have alerted him.

Ronon swept his good right leg behind him and tumbled the man down with a blind kick. He blasted another archer in front of him. A third arrow scraped across the leather covering his ribs just as he collapsed to both knees. Two more blaster shots took out the remaining archers. Ronon caught the downed man's wrist as the sneak tried to knife him in the gut. Ronon forced the knife deep into his attacker's throat instead.

Then Ronon aimed deliberately at the dialing device for the Gate where the two spirit animals were scratching frantically to no effect. When he shot it, the Gate shut down and both their spirit animals ran to Ronon. "Dial the alpha site from the Jumper." Spencer heard Ronon's voice in his ear and from across the field. "Tell them we have Michael's followers with contaminated weapons and we took out the planet's DHD. We'll need science, medical, and military support."

Spencer's gut clenched when Ronon specified contaminated weapons. He must have scented them and kept on fighting anyway. Knowing that Ronon had two contaminated arrow wounds and two other weapons might have broken through his skin made Spencer run harder to reach him.

A genetic vector that passed through mucus membranes and was easily detectable by blood test could almost certainly infect blood directly through a puncture wound. Michael's covert recruitment had morphed into a battle with semen infected sharp edges. Ronon had single-handedly borne the brunt of that battle. And he was still firing on the remains of an army from his knees.

By the time the medic reached him, Ronon had stunned all of the invaders and a new wormhole had formed. Over his radio, Spencer heard the Jumper pilot report in to the alpha site. The medic had pulled on gloves and was wrapping around the leg wound and the arrow in Ronon's shoulder without pulling it out. He shoved a pair of gloves into Spencer's hands before he could do anything stupid like grab his bleeding bond mate.

As Spencer pulled the gloves on, he saw his spirit animal and Ronon's pass through the Gate and then return. Evidently, it wasn't one way transport for them.

Both animals raced to Ronon's ankles and started pulling at his pants as if to drag him through the Gate.

"He needs to go back to Atlantis," Spencer said, even as Ronon's eyes went wide, clearly seeing the animal's intent. "Were you cut?" Spencer asked the medic, whose clothes showed spots of blood, but no obvious gashes.

"None of this blood is mine. We have a protocol in place for decontaminating clothes and skin here. If I help you get him to the Gate, can you support him through?"

"I'm supposed to be hostage here," Spencer said.

"Not leaving you," Ronon grunted.

The medic laughed. "We'll tell them you were injured as we zip tie their invaders and send them through to the beta site. The Colonel will need your full report to plan a response." Then the medic hit his radio and said, "Alpha site, I'm sending you Ronon and Reid. Ronon is barely mobile and carries contagion in several wounds. He needs a quick turnaround to Atlantis." In that moment, Spencer realized the medic who'd just stabilized Ronon's wounds was probably the team lead at the moment and outranked whoever was piloting the Jumper. The man had shifted during the battle between his roles as Marine, medic, and team leader.

A grating sense of responsibility anchored Spencer to Shan Mal as both diplomatic hostage and lead investigator into a biological threat that had morphed into an armed incursion. The leader and analyst in Spencer insisted he stay. What bound him to Ronon turned out to be stronger. He helped the medic hoist the big man off the ground. Through the Gate, Spencer alone supported the alien to whom he'd grown impossibly close.

#

Ten minutes later, they were back on Atlantis. The stubborn Satedan hadn't lost consciousness until he laid down on the gurney that rushed him to the infirmary. From there he'd been shifted into the large scanner as surface decontamination protocols targeted patches of skin and open wounds.

Spencer had stayed with Ronon as long as he could. Then someone forced him through a chemical decontamination shower. He had no idea if he'd ever see the clothes he'd been wearing again, but they'd promised to bring his messenger bag and the metal case back as soon as possible.

As he stood in the decontamination room scanner, his bare skin chilled. The muscles in his shoulders and neck tangled themselves into knots. But his scan came up negative for infection.

As Spencer pulled on white scrubs in the infirmary bathroom, which he knew far too well after only two weeks on Atlantis, he noticed a new sign above a basket of free condoms. On a fiery red and yellow background it said, "Communication must be HOT: Honest, Open, and Two-way." The quote was attributed to Dan Oswald and carried a logo from an Earth school of public relations. Spencer's usually agile mind stuttered as he wondered who thought to post that quote above the condoms and whether if had anything to do with the educational campaign Teyla and Namar were starting.

When he emerged from the bathroom, someone handed Spencer a bottle of water and herded him into a chair by one wall. "Dr. Beckett said to tell you they have a protocol in place to take care of Ronon and to scan everyone sent to the beta site." Spencer thought he nodded before whoever it was walked away.

It was hard to think with Ronon unconscious in the Ancient scanner, but Spencer knew they needed to track down the rest of their unsubs before news spread of what had happened on Shan Mal, before the unsubs had time to regroup or disappear.

At that moment, Sheppard and McKay jogged into the infirmary. They headed straight for Ronon and Carson. Someone in blue scrubs—Spencer wasn't sure if she was a nurse, medic, or doctor, but her expression was stone—efficiently blocked them, forcing them over to chairs beside Spencer. McKay let out a tirade against pumped up witch doctors and their evil servants. Sheppard tapped his ear and bumped a knee against McKay's.

"Dr. Reid," Sheppard said with barely a glance at him, "you need to debrief, assuming the docs have cleared you." His eyes were fixed on Ronon's prone form. McKay, sitting on the far side of Sheppard, was watching Ronon and Carson intently, head tilted, ignoring the tablet in his hands.

Spencer couldn't leave. Whatever his role as Consulting Detective, it was hard enough not to be touching Ronon now. He couldn't let the man out of his sight. Spencer's mental map of the infirmary allowed him to consider options without looking around. Siban was confined in a bed at the back of the room, far from the area with the large scanner. A curved wall hid the operating room. The labs at the back might have a view of Siban but not of Ronon. There were a couple of doors that led to doctor's offices that had windows onto the main part of the infirmary. The foremost office would let them watch over Ronon while Spencer reported and presented options.

"Could we debrief in there, in Carson's office?" Spencer pointed.

With a quick glance Sheppard nodded, "Makes it easy for Carson to join when he can. I'll call Woolsey. Anyone else you think needs to hear whatever you're reporting?" Sheppard was already standing and dragging McKay with him to the office.

"Actually, I'd like to run something by the two of you before deciding who else should know." Spencer followed them into the small room and shut the door. He chose a chair facing the window that let him see Ronon. The other two adjusted chairs to see out as well.

"In the course of my investigation," Spencer began, "more than one source has suggested that there are other gifts besides the Wraith sense that Teyla has, and that Michael and his followers might be especially interested in people with particular gifts. I'd hoped to consult Dr. Beckett again before making these views public. I deduced that he might already know something about various gifts as, I believe, might both of you."

"What are you—" McKay began loudly, hands coming up in a defensive gesture. Spencer could practically see him reeling back the extended hearing and vision he'd been using to monitor Carson and Ronon. The analyst's eidetic memory flashed back to Sheppard almost silently commanding Rodney to back off during negotiations on Shan Mal. He recalled McKay on Utica, noticing semen stains on a child's bedding and wondered if McKay's sense of smell was heightened, too.

Sheppard leaned against the Ancient console on Carson's desk and cut McKay off casually by asking Spencer, "What sort of gifts are you talking about?" As an analyst, Spencer couldn't miss the tone of voice and shoulder bump that calmed McKay down. He'd seen Carson use tone and touch to calm McKay on Utica and also on Atlantis. Carson seemed the obvious candidate to have empathic or touch based gifts and to be McKay's "Guide" as Sandburg would name it. But after Spencer's talk with Bantulan, and knowing how his own gifts turned into an apparent aversion to touch, he suspected both Sheppard and Carson shared some sort of bond with McKay. The question was how they thought about it and how much they were willing to reveal.

"The specialty Alohabar mentioned, emotive touch, is sometimes considered a gift and may be more common on Shan Mal than elsewhere. The unsubs seem particularly interested in people with empathic or touch-based gifts."

"You get that just from Shan Mal?" Sheppard asked, crossing his arms in front of him.

"No, Healer Nok on Paca said I 'called' to him and that he and I were similar because 'the world pulls at us, demands our healing, tugs at our emotions.' He also said we were gifted. Two of the boys on Earth seemed drawn to me rather than my teammates. Normally kids don't even like me."

McKay snorted. "You're saying you have some sort of gift they might go after?"

"That's definitely one implication, but there are all sorts of gifts. Both Nok and Phillips spoke about not being alone. What if the Wraith version of telepathy, or whatever empathic gift, caused Michael to crave more connection to the minds around him? He, including his clones, may be seeking out people with those gifts to surround him and also to improve the DNA therapy he's using to convert others."

Sheppard straightened up a bit in his chair. "Are you saying this might put such people at greater risk if we send them after Michael's followers, his clones, or his cloning facility? I have to assume you're not spinning this tale for no reason before your real debrief."

Spencer admired Sheppard's grasp of the situation and his urgency, but he'd have to put bigger secrets on the table to make sure the military leader had all the information he might need. "That, and if these people can sense whatever gift I might have, they could be able to detect other gifts, like heightened senses or awareness of the spirit plane."

At that point Carson opened the door. He paused mid-step, startled to find the three of them in his office. Spencer realized the brighter light outside the office window must make it hard to see people inside. The doctor recovered quickly and closed the door behind him. Spencer glanced through the office window at Ronon, surprised he'd let the conversation distract him enough to take his eyes off the man. Ronon was asleep on the scanner bed, with two of Beckett's staff carefully shifting him to a hospital bed they'd rolled up alongside.

"He's going to be fine," Beckett said. "After sterilizing any contaminated DNA near the surface, I applied the genetic countermeasure at the points of entry before closing up the wounds. The scanner shows very fast progress this way."

"No issues of consent this time?" Spencer asked.

"Ronon assigned those rights to John and I long ago." Spencer didn't like the way his stomach dropped. He could not be jealous when he'd only known Ronon for a couple of weeks. He should be pleased. The Chief of Medicine and Ronon's team leader and Head of the Military were excellent choices to watch out for Ronon when he couldn't make decisions for himself. Carson continued, "We've also had very good results with Phillips, Torren, and Rat. I was prepared to make the call to treat Siban until news of your battle came through. Now we're focused on making more of the countermeasure to take through to the beta site. Speaking of which, shouldn't Woolsey be here for this debriefing and discussion?"

"Your crazy wunderkind is trying to educate us about 'gifts' and the spirit plane before we bring in more witnesses to the conversation." McKay was looking at his tablet again and waved one arm dismissively.

The blunt words were par for the course with McKay, but they hit hard at Spencer's already overexcited nervous system making his heart pound even as he shivered.

"Rodney, don't use that word as an insult." Beckett sounded genuinely upset, and McKay went wide-eyed, as if he had no idea what Carson was scolding him for this time. He evidently hadn't seen any files that mentioned Reid's mom being schizophrenic, but Carson clearly had. The Scot patted McKay's shoulder and turned to Spencer, instantly calm. "You look chilled, son. Let's get a blanket around your shoulders and hear your explanation."

A moment later the doctor pulled a blanket from what appeared to be the Ancient version of a built in file cabinet, and wrapped it around Spencer. With a glance, he evicted Sheppard from what was apparently Carson's preferred chair. The Colonel shifted to lean against the desk without a fuss, letting his foot rest comfortingly beside McKay's.

Spencer took a deep breath and decided to let himself blurt the worst of it out all at once. "I was explaining that I've now collected local intel on 'gifts' from multiple planets and have reason to believe that some people's gifts allow them to perceive what might be a spirit plane or something called spirit animals. In the battle on Shan Mal, spirit animals allowed us to warn people before the Gate even activated. When they tried to attack directly, only a couple of Michael's followers could see them, and those appeared to be the only ones vulnerable to spirit animal attacks. A couple of spirit animals also encouraged Ronon to take out the dialing device to close the Gate."

"Do you know how much trouble—" McKay began.

"Ronon can see them, too?" Sheppard asked, mouth and eyes wide open.

"Were the ones Ronon saw yours and his?" Carson asked quietly. In Spencer's opinion, the question showing how much Carson already knew and he suspected that was intentional.

Between that acknowledgement, his reprimand for McKay's terminology, and his suggestion of counseling and support groups, Spencer realized how often the doctor behaved like a "dusapa" through this time of change in Spencer's life. "Yes, but I saw others, from the locals, rushing to the Gate before the attack. Ronon and I had been discussing gifts and the spirit plane with a teacher there who'd guessed about me and Ronon. He told us more, about stories of bond mates. When I saw six spirit animals in addition to ours, he believed me right away and took off to warn the others. Later I stepped on a snake that was Healer Nok's spirit animal. It disappeared when Ronon stunned Nok." Carson nodded reassuringly, as if to make it clear to everyone present that he didn't think Spencer was crazy. "Do you know if your cure will take out people's natural gifts? Did you already know what to look for? And was Michael engineering for gifts or a means of control?"

Carson sighed. "After our last talk, I've kept an eye on Juarez's research. I had some idea what to look for, especially where Torren was concerned. The segments Michael engineered for Human A-Y may be partly based on human gifts, but they are no longer human. What I'm targeting shouldn't affect the original DNA. Even gifts we know nothing about should be safe. I can't promise no one will miss whatever engineered abilities they've lost from Michael's experiment, but for those who struggled with the changes as Phillips did, it will be a blessing if they can't remember."

Realizing McKay and Sheppard were quiet if not calm in the wake of Carson's speech, Spencer risked a glance at them and said, "I had to tell you because there might be some among Michael's followers who can see and be warned by their spirit animals. My profile of Michael suggests he'd keep someone with those skills close to him or his progeny, in this case, his next clone."

"Okay, let's keep this need to know. Any other bombshells you'd like to drop?" Sheppard asked with a casual stretch back against Carson's console and a casual brush of his foot against McKay's on the floor.

"Ronon's and my spirit animals seemed to pass through the Gate and come back before indicating that I should take Ronon to the alpha site. So they might be able to pass both ways through a Gate and warn us. If we can figure out how to ask, they could indicate if there's room for a cloaked Jumper on the other side."

"Sounds like you have a specific plan in mind," Sheppard drawled, his fake calm belied by tight lines around his eyes.

Spencer smiled, feeling instantly better as he saw Ronon starting to wake across the infirmary. "You still need to test the Gate monitoring device, don't you?"

#


	5. Chapter 5

Less than an hour later, Spencer sat behind the pilot seat in Jumper One. Lorne hovered the cloaked Jumper near the Gate on an uninhabited planet. A Marine sergeant sat next to him handling communications, navigation, and weapons. Ronon sat behind the Marine, bandages barely concealed by the tight leather clothing the Satedan seemed to count as armor most days. Carson and six Marines sat in back. The doctor had insisted on flying with them when he couldn't convince his patient to stay back in the infirmary. Sheppard had filled the remaining seats in the four cloaked Jumpers with Marines carrying as many non-lethal weapons as possible in addition to their usual armaments. Their orders were to take Michael's followers down alive if possible but to kill if necessary to protect themselves or to prevent escape through the Gate.

But first, they had to find the rest of Michael's followers, and hopefully whatever cloning system he'd set up. To that end, Spencer and Dr. Beckett had made sure that Siban heard about the failed attack by Michael's forces. They let him overhear discussions about testing a device that would set off alarms whenever Michael or his infected followers passed though any Ring of the Ancestors. Then they "forced" Siban to come along as a test subject for their new detection device.

Sheppard and McKay were giving a fine performance as themselves while testing the Gate device. They'd previously tested it successfully by carrying through Siban's contaminated paint and as Siban arrived on the test planet, but Siban didn't know that.

The planet they'd chosen for their test was covered in vast empty dessert. The only way Siban could escape would be through the Gate. If Siban's hands weren't tied especially well and his guards weren't especially attentive, that could just be a lucky break for Siban.

"This was your plan?" Lorne asked from the pilot seat. His tone was carefully neutral, but the effort to keep it that way suggested he wasn't impressed.

"Behavioral analysis suggests that Siban is completely dependent on and submissive to Michael and others in his group. Siban is charming but young and easily led, a fine covert agent to send to Alohabar. However, he was poorly prepared to operate on his own initiative. If the genetic alteration affects him at all the way it affected Phillips, and Beckett has seen signs of that even if Siban is less communicative, then he's feeling a biological imperative to reconnect with Michael or the rest of Michael's followers. Dr. Beckett injected him with a small tracking device and medication to prevent him from spreading his altered DNA. But Siban doesn't know that. All he knows is that he can't go back to the Athosians. Siban was already in a very vulnerable position. We made sure he knew about the failed attack and that we thought Michael's forces would relocate soon to make themselves harder for us to find. That means, if Siban wants to reconnect with them, he has to hurry. He can't take time to cover his tracks as well as he might have, although I'm not sure how well he would have done with that under the best of circumstances. He's smart enough to recognize his best chance of escape. He's impulsive enough to try it. And if he doesn't find his support system where he expects, he will lead us to every other location he knows that Michael might have met with him or mentioned. Given that Michael seems to have hand chosen Siban for the first approach on Shan Mal, Siban may be our best shot at finding a stronghold or base of operations where Michael's latest clone might be."

Lorne sat in silence for a moment, then said, "Sounds pretty tenuous, but I've heard worse plans."

Ronon grunted from across the Jumper. Spencer looked him over from boots to dreads and couldn't hold back a smile. He logically agreed with Carson that Ronon should have stayed in the infirmary. Even if the contaminated DNA hadn't had time to get too far into his system, the arrow wound in his shoulder had torn into muscle. The one on his leg wasn't deep but would leave a scar. As a Satedan, and Spencer knew it would be true of many other military men on Atlantis, Ronon felt determined to see his fight through, to follow Siban back to Michael's forces or stronghold. Whether they let him fight or not, Ronon made it clear he would not hand off his blaster to anyone else. Ronon and his blaster had not only won them the last battle, but accomplished it with almost no casualties. Even if Carson tried to keep him from fighting while still injured, Ronon's example had led others to dig out every non-lethal weapon they could think of. This fight for hearts and minds was a little more literal than most.

Spencer didn't want to think about fighting for and with spirits. He'd argued his way into what would be the first Jumper through the Gate if Siban ran, in the hopes that his or Ronon's spirit animals would warn him if there wasn't room for a Jumper on the other side, or possibly if they were heading into some other sort of trap. But Spencer didn't know much about spirit animals yet, didn't trust the spirit plane to not drive him crazy, and didn't have anyone to teach him.

Ronon stretched out his feet, catching one of Spencer's between them. Someone else might have told Spencer to stop worrying. Ronon just met his eyes and winked at him. With that twitch of one eyelid, Spencer felt his shoulders unclench within the black uniform and tac vest someone had found for him. As his foot was sheltered between Ronon's, Spencer felt wanted and worthy. Even if his logical brain thought Ronon should have stayed behind, Spencer's heart—mind, spirit, or whatever tugged inside him at the foot hug and the wink—insisted both he and his bond mate were right where they should be, together.

From their hidden Jumper they watched and listened as Sheppard said, "What good is a sensor device that overheats on warm days?"

"It isn't overheating!" McKay shouted. "I am! Make your Marines set up a shade tent."

"Seriously, McKay? How long do you expect this to take?"

"It'll be ready when it's ready. Get out of the desert." McKay pointed to a tall rock at least a hundred yards from the Gate. "Over there by that rock would be a good place to tie a roof."

Sheppard shook his head, but pretended to relent. He motioned to the Marines and their supposed captive to follow as Rodney led the way to his chosen rock.

Siban didn't wait for his guards to be occupied tying up a shade roof. After taking as long as he could to stand up, and thereby letting McKay and Sheppard get a good head start, he made his break for the DHD and punched in an address.

"Address of known market planet with Jumper clearance, sir," the Marine next to Lorne reported.  

As planned, Siban's guard chased him through the Gate staying several feet behind. Lorne's and another cloaked Jumper passed through next, followed by McKay and Sheppard feigning outrage, and the last two cloaked Jumpers.

The first two guards pretended to miss seeing Siban hide behind a well as they ran into an open market space filled with wagons and tents. As Sheppard and McKay caught up and pretended to organize a search, Siban doubled back to the Gate. He dialed a new address and their Marine navigator announced, "An Athosian hunting planet, sir."

"Send the address to our team on the ground and Jumper Four in case they're delayed, Sergeant Santos."      

Spencer doubted the instruction was necessary, but if Jumper Four couldn't pick up Sheppard and the others on the ground fast enough, they wouldn't make it through this wormhole without arousing suspicion.

Sure enough, only three concealed Jumpers made it through. Siban looked around curiously, perhaps feeling a breeze as the Jumpers passed him. But he had no reason to believe Jumpers could turn invisible, and thinking he'd escaped pursuit, he dialed the DHD out.

"Unknown address, sir," Santos said.          

"Jumper Three, prepare your drop package with destination address. Jumper two, wait for all clear before following." Lorne switched off his radio and turned to Spencer, "No warning signals yet?"

Lorne had been given a brief explanation of how Spencer and Ronon had been signaled by spirit animals that it was safe to gate through to the alpha site earlier. The Marines in the Jumper thought Spencer was monitoring something on his tablet. Spencer thought Penelope would be amused if he could tell her. He also hoped his spirit animal, if that's what the ghostlike ferret really was, understood from Spencer's intense, worried thoughts that they were flying blind through a Gate with a Jumper that needed room on the other side.

Spencer caught himself holding his breath as Lorne eased them through the Gate behind Siban.

"Clear to follow, Jumper Two," Lorne radioed before Spencer could even take in the empty canyon before them.

It didn't have the stunning reds and yellows of the Grand Canyon, but a wide silver river cut between steep gray cliffs that could easily be a mile high. The Grand Canyon was 277 miles long as the Colorado River flowed, but Spencer couldn't see the ends of this canyon from where they'd flown in at its base. "Why would they put a Stargate at the base of a canyon? It's easily in the floodplain of that river, everything down here is."

"Farmers," Ronon said.  

"Please don't ever mention Gates flooding around McKay," Carson said.

"Target is heading up the cliffs on the right, sir," the navigator said.

"Jumper Two," Lorne said, "we're going to scout ahead. Keep eyes on the target. Jumper Three, stay close enough to cover the Gate."                                            

Lorne took them all the way to the top of the canyon, where Spencer could see they'd entered at one of the narrowest portions, maybe a mile across, a very bad location to be in a flood. He supposed it was possible this planet didn't experience that sort of natural phenomenon. Or maybe that was why no one was farming here.

"No life signs or energy signature so far, sir," the Sergeant reported.

"But we know cliffs and caves can mask those readings," Lorne said.

Spencer didn't know if any of his training would help him spot signs of life or other anomalies in this landscape, but he kept his eyes scanning the ground as he spoke. "That probably worked well for any farmers who lived here in the past. They could have farmed the valley and lived high enough up to be safe from flooding and shielded from Wraith scanners. They could even have posted sentries to watch the Gate and river."

"If Michael's people are using this as a base now, they almost certainly have hidden sentries," Lorne said. "They could easily bring in supplies for a small population without outward signs like agriculture or trails. Probably easier than farming with land this arid."

Spencer wondered if Lorne had grown up on a farm or had other training to help him evaluate an area like this. While Spencer didn't have access to personnel files, he'd read a lot of mission reports. Lorne was sent out with engineering and demolition teams more often than not. It wouldn't be surprising if he had some geology or construction background. Spencer's thoughts were cut off by the navigator announcing, "Isolated lifesign detected on Siban's probable route, sir."

"Share the coordinates with all Jumpers, Sergeant, and we'll take a look before he gets there." Lorne brought the Jumper in close enough to the cliffs that Spencer started to worry about the craft's clearance and tolerances. Something else he'd have to look up back on Atlantis. For the time being, he tried to keep looking for hidden signs of life.

"Cave," Ronon said, pointing forward and up a bit. A long horizontal slit in the canyon wall seemed to show only darkness.

"Scans show at least a 50 foot wide opening, sir. Life sign is in the center and not moving. Heartbeat unreasonably fast. It could be a small child or an animal. Not in a likely position for a sniper. Any other lifesigns in the front section of this cave would have to be well shielded not to register at this range, sir."

"Room to land a Jumper?"

"Minimal vertical clearance, but plenty for width and depth on the right, sir."

A gridlike overlay appeared on the screen in front of Lorne with a target box the size of the Jumper and a red dot marking the lifesign.

"Lorne, this is Sheppard, report." Spencer assumed Jumper Four had waited several minutes to make the second Gate activation less noticeable.

"Jumper Two has eyes on Siban. Jumper Three is monitoring the Gate. We have scouted above and found no signs of habitation but scanning the cliffs turned up a solo lifesign in a cave that could be Siban's destination. Heartrate suggests either a child or an animal. Request permission to land cloaked Jumper in cave and investigate, sir."

"Your call, Lorne. Looks like a tight fit and you'd have to park well back to leave a path for Siban to pass without bumping into you."

"In the case our solo lifesign is a child, I'd like to put boots on the ground behind the cloaked Jumper to react faster if needed, sir."

"Don't suppose anyone packed IR lights and goggles today?" Sheppard joked.

"Just the scanners in the Jumper, sir."

"Land and scan, Major. Your call then about stationing someone outside, but you'll have to maintain radio silence once they're out there. Our primary goal is to observe Siban and see where he leads us. Siban could reach you within five minutes. Jumper Four will hover outside the cave."    

Lorne guided their Jumper in as if he was pulling into a low garage back home. He parked them so far inside that Spencer thought the deep shadows might have hidden the Jumper without cloaking. His inner fanboy experienced a moment of giddy joy about hiding in a cloaked spaceship on an alien planet before infrared scan results brought up a picture in false color in front of Lorne.

Spencer wondered if someone from Earth had programmed the display, because it showed bright yellow for the warmest object in the room, which was clearly a human infant. Beneath the baby, the corpse of a pregnant woman showed barely pinker than the cold purple denoting the rocks that deep inside the cave.

Carson was on his feet in an instant. "Let me out. There is no way we are leaving a baby there for this."

"It could be a trap," Lorne answered. "What readings can we take from here, Sergeant Santos?"      

"If we delay, I won't have time to bring the baby into the Jumper before Siban arrives. Let me out." Carson rushed to the back of the Jumper but two Marines stood to block the door. The doctor's emotionality in the field surprised Spencer until he remembered from mission reports how rarely Carson had gone into the field before Atlantis returned to Pegasus two years ago.

With a calm he'd cultivated over years of working some of the worst cases the BAU handled, Spencer said, "At these temperature, I'd estimate the mother has been dead for at least six hours allowing her body to cool to near ambient temperature. Mind control aside, Siban doesn't profile as someone who would harm a baby. If the child has survived this long, can you tell me as a medical expert that another ten or twenty minutes is likely to matter?"

"Heart rate is 100 beats per minute, sir," Sergeant Santos said.

Lorne asked, "Dr. Beckett, I need your best medical opinion, is the infant in immediate danger?"

Beckett hurried back to the front of the jumper and studied the IR image and extra scans of the baby's body, heart rate, and breathing that the Jumper had produced. "No," Carson said softly, brow furrowed. "I'd say she's sleeping. But if Siban tries to take her or makes her cry, how will we stop him without hurting her?"

Spencer noticed the pronoun and looked more carefully at the new scan. That might explain why the woman and baby were judged expendable. Humans A-Y would all be male, at least for now, because the genetic modifications focused so heavily on the Y-chromosome. He wondered if the baby could have been conceived by an infected father, which would assure the genetic changes were in every cell of the child's body.

"I can," Ronon said.

Spencer stopped breathing when he realized that Ronon meant to protect the baby from Siban if needed.

"How? I didn't even want you out of the infirmary." Carson stared at the false color image of the baby, and Spencer stayed quiet, pushing down his own desire to keep Ronon safe.

"Sneak up behind him. Quiet. Just let me wait outside the Jumper." Ronon looked to Lorne.

"Surely someone else—" Carson started to protest.

"Trust me," Ronon said

Carson blinked a couple times, and Spencer could see the words hit him almost as hard as they hit Spencer. Carson nodded. Lorne said, "Almasi, Duarte, outside and hold position behind the Jumper. Keep still and silent. Radio silence until I break it. You do not move a muscle unless Ronon signals you or someone's life is in immediate danger, understood?"  

"Yes, sir," the two Marines replied. Then they and Ronon were out of the Jumper before Spencer could even say goodbye.

Carson took the seat Ronon had vacated. They watched with IR as three men and a baby stayed very still for over five minutes. When Siban finally entered the cave, Ronon was the first to tilt his head, showing he heard. He silently tracked the man as he entered the cave and called out, "Anyone here? It's me, Siban."

No one answered.

Without IR, the bodies in the center of the cave would appear as an indistinct mound in the darkness. Siban moved toward them hesitantly and knelt down to touch. His hand jerked back. Then he reached forward again, carefully touching what he must know was a dead body. He traced along the side far enough to tell the corpse was female, but never reached high enough to feel the warmth of the sleeping baby. Instead, Siban started to cry.

At first they were the breathy silent tears of someone crying alone with no particular reason to keep quiet or make noise. Then Siban cried out again, "Please, didn't anyone wait for me?"

A couple minutes passed with Siban quietly crying. Then he crawled forward to the edge of the cave, as if he didn't have the energy to stand. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out into the canyon. "Is anyone still here? This is Siban. Please, don't leave me alone."

A minute later he called out again. "I did my best. You promised we wouldn't be alone."

Spencer concluded that Siban couldn't think of anyplace else to go. That meant he didn't have anyplace else to lead them. The question was how long they'd wait to see if anyone came for him. He seemed emotionally exhausted, and Spencer wondered if they could wait until he fell asleep and then retrieve the baby without tipping him off. There didn't seem to be any traps or sentries around.

That was when Siban pulled out a knife. At first the young Athosian just rolled the hilt back and forth in his hands.

Ronon started to creep forward. He kept to the shadows but was clearly visible on IR.

Siban showed no sign of noticing. He started to raise the knife to his throat. Spencer had profiled enough hunters to guess that any Athosian would know how to commit suicide effectively with a knife.

Ronon jumped from the shadows before Spencer registered Siban pulling the knife back for a powerful stab. In one motion Ronon had the knife out of Siban's hand and the young man pulled up tight against his chest. It was half restraint, half hug.

"Stay with us," was all Ronon said. Siban broke into sobs.

A minute later Lorne was reporting to Sheppard over the radio and had opened the rear hatch on the Jumper. The two Marines already outside went to help Ronon with Siban. Two others followed Carson to deal with the baby and her mother's body. Spencer did a quick search of the cave by flashlight, taking pictures with his tablet. He found signs of at least one campfire, but the area had been efficiently cleaned out.

He returned to the center and took pictures of the mother, dressed entirely in black with only her monolid eyes visible through black coverings on her face. A knife had been thrust beneath her ribs, above her recently pregnant belly. How could they tell Hunt Leader and the other girls on Utica about this? Had the archers Ronon stunned on Shan Mal stabbed this woman and left her baby to die before they went into battle?

When no one reported finding additional rooms or any clues left behind, Spencer put in his own call to Sheppard. "Colonel Sheppard, this is Dr. Reid. Would it be possible to leave a Jumper watching this Gate for a day or two to see if anyone does come back to check for Siban or others?"

"You think that's likely?"

"I don't know enough to make an accurate prediction, but if they did, it would certainly be worthwhile to follow them out. I'd like to at least keep it covered until I can interview the people at the beta site."

"Okay, I'll leave a team for now. We can discuss the rest at the debrief." Sheppard switched to giving other instruction on the open channel.

Five minutes later, their Jumper took off from the cave with a baby, a body bag, and a much more helpful Siban. Spencer had given the young Athosian his seat, across from Ronon and was crouched between them, carrying on a quiet interrogation while he had the chance. Siban now seemed eager to give all the names he knew of those who had abandoned him. Spencer would have to check the truth of his statements later, but he sounded sincere as he described his recruitment by a healer during a hunt. The ritual involving semen on the eyes, nose, and mouth and a hand placed to the chest was exactly as Spencer expected. Siban claimed to have only met the Wraith hybrid who he referred to as "New Light" once, when his secret mission was explained to him.

"Did New Light tell you what would happen to Alohabar once you painted him?" Spencer asked.

"He would be a strong and wonderful part of us," Siban said tiredly. "I am glad I failed. It was all lies."  

Spencer thought Siban's reversal of allegiances was a bit extreme. He was either trying to ingratiate himself to the only group he thought would still help him, or something in his history or from the virus made him desperate and emotionally unsteady now. He was also very young. Spencer presented his questions as calmly as possible. "Were you supposed to bring Alohabar back with you?"                                              

"Only if he wanted to meet more like me. I think New Light might have planned to speak to him once he opened up to us." Siban sounded more than a little jealous. He seemed to have no idea that the hybrid Wraith had been hiding just outside the tent.

"The paint was meant to open him to the rest of you?" Spencer asked.

He noticed how Ronon tilted his head back on his seat as if he was close to sleep, but Spencer suspected he was trying to hear Carson talk about the baby in the rear of the Jumper and possibly relieve some pressure on his shoulder. Maybe when they'd known each other longer, there'd be a teasing way Spencer could ask him to have it checked. For the first time, he hoped to sound like an old married couple someday. But that day wasn't now, and he focused on Siban instead.

"Because my essence would enter his body and make him one with us." Siban shivered and shook his head. "Perhaps it would make him want to be one with us, but were we truly one?"

Spencer wanted to finish his questions before they reached Atlantis, and he wasn't sure how to answer that sort of Human A-Y existential angst. "Had you shared the essence with anyone else?"

"No, I was told not to do or say anything unusual until after I painted Alohabar." Spencer could practically see the wheels turning in the young man's head as he reconsidered events.

"And then you were supposed to come back here?" Spencer heard Sergeant Santos dialing the Gate.

Siban sounded sad but still a little proud of himself as he said, "After passing through the market, exactly as I did. I followed every direction I was given as well as I could."                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

#

Ronon stomped out of the debrief. Spencer felt like a puppy trailing behind him, but he wasn't ready to let the man out of his sight.

The stomping shifted to a menacing prowl as Ronan boarded a transporter with Spencer close on his heels. The doors opened onto a level with a workout room and two sparring gyms.

"Seriously?" Spencer asked. "Studies show that exercising while injured tissues are still inflamed can lead to re-injury and collateral injuries. That may increase recovery time by a factor of two to ten and in some cases create chronic pain management situations."

Ronon stayed in the transporter but said through clenched teeth, "Want to hit something."

Spencer nodded. If another Michael clone stood in front of them, he wouldn't deny Ronon that urge. In this case, he couldn't stand the idea of Ronon hurting himself more. "How about warmth and massage? Relaxing the muscles around an injury enhances the body's own healing mechanisms." He looked over at the fierce man beside him and could see hard, clenched muscles in the set of Ronon's shoulders and jaw. "You'll recover faster and be ready to hit someone sooner."

Ronon grunted but sent the transporter to his quarters instead. Once there he dialed up the heat and brought out the extra blankets they'd used for bundling. Spencer tugged him toward the bed, into a sitting position that wouldn't aggravate his wounds. Without a word, Ronon removed his weapons, his layers of protective leather, and then the woven shirt underneath, before wrapping up as well as he could in blankets.

Kneeling behind Ronon on the bed, Spencer tried to remember everything he'd ever read about massage. He tentatively placed a hand on each of Ronon's shoulders and tried to knead the trapezius.

After a moment, Ronon said, "Harder, pound with your fists."

"I'm not the one with an urge to hit something, especially not you."

"Try it."

Spencer bit back the urge to argue like a child or lecture like a professor. There was such a thing as percussive massage, and it might be what Ronon really needed. Spencer kept well away from the injury site and the spine as he started to pound with his fists.

After a minute, Ronon's back began to relax. A warm wash of success set Spencer tapping faster. Pretty soon he felt like a drummer, or more like a hammered dulcimer player. He found himself slipping into rhythms he'd heard in clubs, often while working a case. There were tunes he'd never made out clear words for but had caught in his head and wanted to move to nonetheless. If the rhythms appealed to him, the patterns he moved his hands in catered to Ronon. Spencer started to map the muscles, following those that relaxed under his hands to others that remained tight or knotted. When Ronon let out a sigh or a moan, it became part of the music.

After a while, Ronon was loose and slouching forward, forearms resting on his knees. Spencer was surprised by how his own body had relaxed. Maybe he had needed to hit something. More likely, he just needed to spend time touching Ronon.

Surveying the broad expanse of warm skin before him, Spencer saw there was still some tension along the spine. Not wanting to pound there, he rocked his fists up alongside until he reached the neck. Ronon's dreads were hanging to each side, still slightly damp from the decontamination and cleaning they'd been put through before the debrief. "I want to run my fingers across your scalp and touch your hair. I mean, if that's okay, if you'd like that."

"Knifes are already out," Ronon said without changing position.

"Somehow, I've never happened to study hairstyles like this on Earth. I don't want to mess anything up."

Ronon let out a fond puff like a laugh. "Could run your fingers between anytime there aren't knives. Just washed now. You want to learn how they grow?"

"I always want to learn."

Ronon snorted and reached back with his good right arm. He aligned his fingers over those on Spencer's right hand and positioned their ring and pointer fingers at the base of one dread. Then he started them circling clockwise. Ronon's thick hair was strong but smooth between their fingers. It smelled faintly of chemicals from the infirmary, but as their fingers circled, repositioned, and circled some more, the rich salty smell of Ronon's scalp overcame that. Once a small puff of hair clung together from all angles at the base of the established dread, Ronon moved their joined hands onto the next one.

There was a rhythm to it. Much softer and slower than during the percussive massage. Every half minute or so they'd change their hold on the dread. When the new mass of hair felt stable, they'd move to the next dreadlock. When Ronon let go of Spencer's hand and left him to manage the next section on his own, the rhythm set up a pleasant tension throughout Spencer's body. He felt the dreads forming under his fingers, and it was a bit of a turn on. Not that Spencer was going to think too much on the analogy of what he was doing to help Ronon out with a long cylindrical body part, not tonight while Ronon was injured anyway. But the act felt incredibly intimate, and it was nice to be able to do something for the usually hyper-independent warrior.

As he worked his way to the left on Ronon's scalp, Spencer wondered how often the dreads required this rubbing and if Ronon's left shoulder would be fully healed before the next time. Without speaking, Spencer gave himself over to the meditative motion. His memory and mapping abilities were so automatic that the analyst instinctively kept track of what he'd already done and made sure every dread received attention.

By the end, his arms were pleasantly tired. He felt surprisingly calm and realized Ronon was dozing sitting up.

"Lie down, Ronon. Do you need anything else before you sleep?"

"I'm good. You?"

"Can I stay here tonight? I can bundle up if you want."

"I'm bundled enough for both," Ronon said as he lay back. The blankets he'd brought out for warmth shifted with him. He pulled back the regular sheet and blanket on his bed, and Spencer quickly slid his slacks and over shirt off and climbed in. The scent surrounding him on the pillows and sheets was like Ronon's hair only more so, tinged with something like coconut oil rather than the infirmary soap. Spencer curled up and was asleep in moments.

#

_Ronon fell to his knees but kept shooting. Behind him was an active Stargate. An army of infected people standing in an open field. Arrows impaled Ronon's thigh and shoulder. Bleeding. He swayed backward._

_On the ground. Bleeding. A bloody wooden stake impaled the gut. Emily. All in black. Lying on the cold gray concrete floor in a basement. Dying._

#

Spencer's own screams woke him. He was in an unfamiliar bed, sweat damp all over. His throat hurt even though he'd stopped the scream.

"Can I touch you?" Ronon's voice was calm, matter of fact.

Spencer managed to nod. There was enough light for Ronon to see, and Spencer didn't ask if the Satedan shared his discomfort with waking up to pitch black.

Ronon's hand stroked damp hair off Spencer's brow. Spencer shivered and feared the hand would pull away. It didn't. Spencer let out a breath and relaxed a tiny bit. "Sorry."

"You can tell me if you want." The hand on Spencer's hair stroked gently.

As thoughts fell into order, Spencer realized Ronon wasn't using his other arm because it was injured, impaled by an arrow. He didn't want to tell his dream but the thoughts ran out of his mouth anyway. "Emily died—I thought she died—impaled by a wooden stake. A bit too much like an arrow I guess. I don't usually scream when I have bad dreams."

Ronon leaned closer, practically burying his nose in Spencer's hair and letting his dreads brush along Spencer's face. "When I smelled what was on the arrow, I almost screamed. I didn't want it to infect my brain and make me spread it. I pictured shoving my fingers in the wound and then into your mouth. Almost like a Wraith illusion."

"Do you think they could?" Spencer barely managed to speak his scattered thoughts in order. "If they have some form of shared thoughts based on Wraith DNA, could they have sent you that on purpose? But the genetic modification couldn't work that fast, couldn't let them control you."

Ronon pushed his fingers through Spencer's hair even as he said, "Better to be alone. No one else to hurt."

"You don't—"

"Tactically better." Ronon spoke over him, into him, into his neck. "But I couldn't leave you. Couldn't let you leave tonight. Couldn't stay away when I went to Sateda. Know it's time to stop running."

"I—I couldn't leave you either," Spencer said, snuggling in as close as he could to Ronon's mound of blankets. He remembered when his dad left, when Gideon left. If Ronon had just run away after stunning him during the attack on Alohabar, Spencer didn't think he could have trusted anyone again. "Do you think this is all part of bonding? Because of our gifts?"

"All part of us. The way you smell to me. The way I feel to you. Every person we loved before. Every person who betrayed our trust. I loved Melena, but I never had to learn to trust her. I trusted Task Master Kell, but he betrayed Sateda to save himself, and that broke something in me. I suffered alone for seven years, came into my gifts, came here and waited years to even take someone to bed a few times. Then you show up and in two weeks we have this. Not sure about destiny, but we fit. If our gifts fit and this makes them work better, I'll take that too."

No one had ever spoken to Spencer that way. Spencer had never wanted anyone so much. And yet, tears filled his eyes, like he couldn't believe in anything he wanted so badly. "If I'd stayed on Earth, I wouldn't have known what I was missing. Would I have stayed alone, always felt like a freak for feeling too much, even when I worked past all the questions about sanity, sociability, touch, the autism spectrum, queer sensibilities, gender, entitlement, status, all the labels and judging?"

"No, you wouldn't have stayed alone." Ronon's hand rested warmly on the back of his neck and his voice sounded certain. "The way you felt after what happened with Emily. You said you thought about leaving your job. I think your gifts guided you even if you thought you were a freak and didn't know what you had. You would have found someone who appreciated you."

"I think your four year cycles might be closer to seven or eight for me." In the near darkness and warmth of contact, the words came pouring out of Spencer. "I was in college about that long. Then there was some transition time contracting and qualifying for the FBI. But I was with my team at the BAU for eight years. This last year, even before we lost Emily, I was chafing against how they saw me. I knew Morgan meant well, but I was tired of being called 'Pretty Boy.' And JJ treated me even more like a kid after she became a mother. I can't believe she lied to me about Emily for seven months. Or else, the crying on her couch for ten weeks might have been the end of me playing the role of kid on the team. I stood up for myself and made the effort at weapons training that I should have made years before. I was pretty harsh to JJ and some of the others before I left. Maybe your people are right that teenage rebellion doesn't just happen with teenagers. Or maybe I just had to grow up twice."

"Sounds like they have their own growing to do. Same as anyone else."

"I wonder if they'll still treat me like a kid when I go back."

If Ronon's fingers hadn't been buried in Spencer's hair, he would have missed the flinch those words caused.

"Not that I plan to go back and work at the BAU again. That chapter is done, and I hope I would have come to that conclusion anyway. Now I'm with you, and bond or no bond, I want to be here." It took only a moment before Ronon's fingers slid gently down to Spencer's neck.

"I choose you, too," Ronon said, pressing their foreheads and cheeks together. It was like a circuit closed and something in Spencer came together in a way he never had before. Whatever it was that Spencer had found with Ronon, he wasn't giving it up. He felt safe and accepted. Even if it was new and sudden, he fit with Ronon in a way he'd never expected to fit with anyone, let alone an ex-Runner, Satedan, Lantean, Tracker, warrior. It was easy to shift closer and fall asleep, as he hoped he would every night from then on.

#

Spencer woke up with a purpose. He needed to talk to Lieutenant Phillips right away.

His first breath after waking brought him the scent of Ronon's hair and bedding. He opened his eyes to a huge mound of blankets and a peaceful, sleeping face beside him.

He didn't want to wake Ronon. Ronon was injured. Ronon needed sleep. Ronon was his bond mate, which meant at least as much as lover. Even if Spencer hadn't spent the night with a lover in years, he knew leaving the person asleep in bed alone was bad. Leaving a note might be acceptable. Ronon was as dedicated to their current case, stopping Michael's genetic attacks, as Spencer was. But he wasn't sure what to say in a note or whether to write it in Satedan or English. But if Ronon needed him to stay, to help with something while he was injured or reaffirm what they'd said the night before, Spencer didn't want to disappoint in the relationship so early.

"Stop worrying," Ronon said without opening his eyes.

"I didn't want to wake you, but I want to try something with Phillips."

"Done sleeping."

"But you're injured, and your brain releases hormones that trigger tissue growth while you sleep."

Ronon's eyes opened. He gave Spencer a very flat look and said, "Done sleeping." Then he slipped from his blanket cocoon with amazing efficiency considering his injuries and went to use the bathroom.

Spencer called out, "I need to go by my room to change."

"Meet you in the infirmary."

#

"Lieutenant Phillips, I need you to close your eyes. I'd like to try something called a cognitive interview." Phillips closed his eyes without question. Spencer glanced around the cool white medical observation room they'd borrowed and wondered if what he was trying could work without a crime scene to describe. "Sometimes this technique helps people remember events. I'm guessing when you were first infected, you didn't know exactly what was going on. Now I'm going to touch you, and you need to let your mind drift to how it felt before and what you felt and thought then."

Spencer pressed his right hand above Phillips' heart, just the way the boys in Cascade had shown him. He didn't know if this would trigger memories of the boys or of someone before that passing the virus to Phillips, but he'd take any information he could get at this point. Using his left hand, he wiped Phillips' nostrils as if applying ointment. Spencer was more comfortable touching others than having them initiate touch, but wiping an adult's nose felt bizarre in its own right. Next he ran the same fingers gently over Phillips' lips and then his closed eyelashes, careful to stroke from inside to outside corners, just as the children had for him. He felt Phillips shudder as he stroked the second eye.

"What are you feeling?"

"Cold." Phillips' wrinkled his nose. "There was cold mucusy ointment on wrinkled cold fingers. His touch was gentle, especially on the eyes, but I wanted to pull away. I manned up because I'm a Marine."

"Who was he?"

"Local leader. That was his title or something…Tribe Leader Ono."

"What was he saying?"

"I don't know. I don't remember any more."

"I'm going to touch your face again, and I want you to concentrate on anything you heard, words or sounds." Spencer brushed his fingers slowly and carefully across the Lieutenant's nose, lips, and eyes. Then he waited.

"Gift to bring people together. Only those protected by the ritual would survive. The special ones I felt drawn to needed protection. Needed to never be alone again." Phillips' face crumpled in a way he probably wouldn't have allowed if his eyes were open and he was fully aware of his surroundings. They both knew Ronon and Carson were watching through an observation window, but it was easy to forget in the silent and featureless infirmary room. "I was drawn to Tribe Leader Ono. I was so tired of being alone."

"Was that the first time you felt drawn to someone like that?"

"No, that's how I found my best friends growing up, my girl in high school who died in a car crash. I tried not to feel it after that, tried to deny it. Most adults back home were easy to ignore, here I feel it from adults as much as kids."

"What do you feel?"

"They keep my attention. I want to stay with them, to touch them."

"Is that what drew you to the boys on Earth?"

"I don't remember."

"Keep your eyes closed as much as you can. You need to touch me the way I was just touching you." It was hard for Spencer to ask for something he knew he'd hate, but he tried to stay calm and professional. "Imagine that I'm a young boy, one that you feel drawn to touch on the chest, nose, mouth and eyes, the same way I touched you."

Phillips reached his right hand to Spencer's chest, eyes barely cracked open to see. His breathing suddenly became rough and fast. His eyes pressed tighter and his face wrinkled up. "You felt me in your head, compared my voice to a migraine, said I wouldn't hurt you when I had a knife at your throat." Phillips pulled his hand back, closing it in a fist, pressing it to his leg. "Why do I know that? I saw a room with flowers on the walls and old furniture and people pointing guns at me. But I was you. Trapped in front of me. I felt me pressing against your back. I felt the knife at your throat."

Spencer choked, caught in his own memory of that moment in Cascade. Caught by how Phillip's voice and the pressure in his head had reminded him of a migraine, but he'd never told anyone that.

Carson and Ronon rushed in the door. Ronon first stood in front of Spencer then moved to just beside him. They weren't touching, but Spencer could feel Ronon's warmth, feel his solid calming presence.

Carson stood facing Phillips, placing hands on both his shoulders. "Listen to me, lad. Calm down and tell me if you ever felt like you absorbed someone's feelings when you touched them, maybe even a word or image. That girlfriend in high school maybe?"

"No, maybe, not words definitely. I used to be a very tactile person. My mom said I was sensitive and empathetic, but I haven't felt anything like that in a long time."

"With your mum, did you ever pick up on her feelings? Her thoughts?"

"Not like that. There was a time," Phillips swallowed before continuing, "She said I read her mind about wanting to go to the beach. My dad had just stormed out the front door, and I asked if going to the beach would make her feel better—She said she'd been remembering her honeymoon, and that I must have read her mind—At that age, I'd never been to a beach. I didn't know about their honeymoon. It may have made sense for her to think of a beach then, but it didn't make sense for me." Phillips words had been speeding up as he explained. His eyes were still mostly closed as he calmed himself and said, "But things like that happen. Kids know things that no one remembers telling them." His voice grew thin, as if he'd tried to convince himself of this multiple times.

Spencer had recovered enough to pull a picture of Jonathon from his pocket. "What about him?"

Phillips looked at the picture. He closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. Then he shook his head. "I don't remember anything. I'm sorry."

After they all stood silently for a minute, Carson said, "If you're done here, Reid, we had a message from the beta site where they're holding those captured on Shan Mal. Healer Nok says he needs to speak with you. You had said you wanted to investigate before we told the combatants about any of what they forgot."

Spencer tensed. The last thing he wanted after whatever had just happened with Phillips was to deal with the healer from Paca, the man who'd rutted against him while pressing him into a tree.

"Going with him," Ronon said, leaning closer so his arm was actually touching Spencer's.

"Never would have guessed," Carson said with easy humor. "Luckily, I'm already signed up for this one as well, so I'll escort you both."

"Could I come?" Phillips asked.

"You aren't cleared for Gate travel," Carson said.

Phillips glanced at Ronon but only said, "Will Tribe Leader Ono be there? I might remember stuff if I saw someone from when it all happened."

#

Spencer walked through the Gate with Phillips, Ronon, and Carson. The planet wasn't the depressing beta site where he'd rejoined Alohabar. This one was merely barren and dusty. At the moment the sun was far too bright. But compared to the extra gravity and air pressure from before, the new beta site seemed positively inviting. It also had more tents than before, at least a dozen, and a couple that were just shade roofs, beneath which some of the prisoners were preparing food.

Sheppard and two Marines led them to an examination tent that had been set up with a table and chairs for Spencer to conduct interviews.

Nok was already seated on the side of the table closer to the door, wearing the same cape, the one that looked and smelled like smoke, as in the forest and later in battle. Spencer walked around to the far side of the table. "Healer Nok," Spencer said, very aware of Carson, Phillips, Ronon, and Sheppard standing like an honor guard just inside the door with two Marines posted outside, "I was told you wanted to speak to me."

"I don't want to," the old man grumbled, jaw tight. "My spirit animal says I owe you a life debt, no matter I don't remember any of it. I would not disgrace my spirit bond or my people by failing to acknowledge this."

Spencer thought about the green snake with yellow stripes that he'd instinctively known was Nok's and had stepped on during the battle on Shan Mal."The snake remembers? How much can it communicate to you?"

"The skills of a healer are a secret best held private. To ask about my spirit animal is beyond unacceptable." Nok rolled his shoulder back.

Spencer kept his voice polite, although he was feeling anything but. "I apologize for not knowing the etiquette here, but could a life debt entitle me to such information?"

Nok sighed and his shoulders dropped. "I apologize. I owe you humility and service, which should include answering your questions." The healer was staring to the right of his foot. Shifting back to glance under the table Spencer saw the small green snake. "My spirit animal thanks you for restraining him. I had ordered him to attack you, and he feared that to avoid killing you he would have to break faith with me, thereby breaking our spirit bond. He feared to even touch your skin while you are still establishing your pair bond."

Spencer resolutely did not look at Ronon. "How do you communicate with him?" He saw the snake's head lift and tongue stretch to taste the air, as if he was listening.

Nok tightened his jaw but answered, "Years spent practicing meditation allow me to put thoughts forward and sense his messages in return."

At best it was a partial answer. Spencer could tell Nok's desire to make amends did not run very deep. "Do you or your spirit animal remember meeting with a hybrid wraith?"

Nok's eyes stilled for a moment, staring at Spencer. "Yes, twice."

Spencer was sure that was true, but not a complete answer. He couldn't stand to meet Nok's eyes for longer. An image of Julio, another religious leader from another interrogating room, in Miami, flashed across Spencer's vision, and he heard Julio tell him, "Listen with your heart, not your head." For a moment Spencer closed his eyes, and the ambition and deceit pouring off the man across from him chilled Spencer to the bone.

He heard the little snake hiss even though he knew there was no sound. Not even Ronon reacted as if there was a sound, but Reid glanced beneath the table in time to see the spirit snake return to Nok and wrap around his ankle, under the cuff of his pants.

Nok made a "hmm" sound and then said, "I made you a bracelet, a token of my respect and contrition." From his coat, Nok pulled a sewn band. A needle attached to a loop of double string hung from one end, as if Nok meant to sew the bracelet closed around Spencer's wrist. The bracelet was mostly green with small bands of yellow.

"I appreciate the thought, but I'm sorry, I cannot accept." He pulled back his left shirt sleeve just enough to show the mostly yellow but partly green beaded bracelet that Julio had given him, saying he needed the protection. At the time, Spencer had been disinclined to believe such things, but it had felt right to wear the simple gift against his skin, even though he always wore his watch over cloth.

For the first time in their meeting, Healer Nok looked truly enraged.

Spencer's mind flashed to a tree. Nok's hand grabbing up at him. A pale furry animal he feared was a hallucination hissing down at Nok.

The room exploded into motion around Spencer.

Nok threw himself across the table, trying to jab Spencer with the needle on the bracelet. Phillips grabbed hold of Nok around the chest, hauling him back. Sheppard pulled his sidearm and grabbed Nok's wrist simultaneously while stepping in front of Carson. Ronon seemed to cross the room in one stride, plucking Spencer from his chair and pulling him to the far side of the tent using just one arm.

Then everyone froze in place as Phillips gasped and said, "He had more of the semen in a flask. Dosed himself as soon as he woke up and worked it onto the bracelet and needle. God, he practically worships New Light."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow and Phillips said, "Sir." The Colonel just shook his head. He didn't even twitch as Carson came up beside him.

"I have a sample case," Carson said, "Just keep his arm still for me."

In less than a minute, Carson had the needle and bracelet sealed inside a plastic canister. Sheppard ordered the two Marines at the door to keep Nok immobilized until he'd been thoroughly strip and cavity searched. Once they took him away, Sheppard called on his radio, "This is Colonel Sheppard. McKay with guard to the interrogation tent immediately. All other units, go to alert status. Some prisoners may still have infectious agents or may have been reinfected. Code red security on prisoners and the Gate until further notice."

As soon as McKay arrived, Sheppard posted the guards who'd come with him in front of the tent and brought everyone together at the table.

"First," Sheppard pointed at Phillips, "How did you know about Nok recontaminating himself, the bracelet, needle, flask, everything?"

"Flash of his memory when I touched him, sir," Phillips glanced at Carson and Spencer.

Spencer was relieved when Carson said, "We had a similar incident when he touched Spencer earlier. He seems to have had a touch based gift, perhaps like Alohabar, all his life. I don't know yet if it's amplified or changed post treatments, but he still scans clean from genetic tampering."

"Of course he does," McKay said, "I have an alarm on the Gate he just came through."

"So if Nok or any of the others have reinfected themselves, they'll set off the Gate alarm when we move them." Sheppard nodded and was about to tap his radio when McKay interrupted.

"Move them where?"

"We're reverting to our previous beta site."

McKay rolled his eyes. "I'll set up a monitor for that Gate as well, but I'm not staying on that dumpy planet. Besides, I was promised chocolate mousse for dinner tonight."

Sheppard rolled his eyes and stomped out of the tent giving orders into his radio.

Carson nudged the grumpy scientist who relaxed visibly at the contact. "It's not even lunch yet."

"A good thing, too. Do you know how many minions I'll need to shout down to get that depressing planet out of my system before I can enjoy my chocolate?"

Carson reached into his pocket. "I thought you could always enjoy chocolate?"

"Gimme, gimme, gimme!" McKay suddenly sounded about four. Carson and Ronon looked amused. Phillips had gone into blank-faced soldier mode.

"We can share it while you fix the next Gate," Carson said as they left the tent.

As soon as they were gone, Phillips said, "Dr. Reid, sir, could I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Spencer said. "They won't let us go back during a code red anyway."

Phillips looked surprised that Spencer knew that, but it was good to see Ronon hadn't underestimated him. The Satedan did stay right beside him though as Phillips spoke.

"When Nok said you were still establishing your pair bond, I remembered something. I think Tribe Leader Ono said something similar to me shortly before the ritual."

"About someone establishing a pair bond?"

"Him and me. He worried we'd be more vulnerable because we were establishing a pair bond."

There wasn't a single twitch or tell to suggest Phillips was lying. Spencer asked, "How long had you known Tribe Leader Ono?"

"Just that day, I'm pretty sure. But it was intense, like I was drawn to him even though I denied it, and that was before any weird ritual stuff. When he first touched me, it was like electricity or chemistry or something. It seems wrong now that I forgot. Maybe that's why he was so easy to remember in your interview thing."

Spencer tapped his radio, "Dr. Beckett, this is Dr. Reid. Is there any way you could clear someone medically so we could question him without waiting for the relocation?"

"Shouldn't be a problem. Who do you need?"

"Tribe Leader Ono, from Utica."

"I'll send him as soon as possible."

"Thank you," Spencer said into the radio. Then he said to Phillips, "I need to question him about some unpleasant events on his planet. If you have some sort of feelings for this man, you might not want to be present."

"I'm not sure what I feel," Phillips snorted and shrugged, "but if it's going to be bad, maybe I should be here for him."

#

Tribe Leader Ono was led into the tent wearing plain green scrubs from Atlantis. Spencer felt a little guilty. All the Uticas he'd seen had been almost completely covered in black clothing. He sensed the change of clothes was more humiliating for an Utica leader than for most. The man's beard looked accidental and ill-suited as well, making the leader appear old and worn before his time. His gait was stiff, but he carried his head high. A slight hesitation when he saw Phillips in the tent hinted at some recognition.

"Tribe Leader Ono," Spencer began, "I'm Dr. Reid. I would be happy to have you call me just Reid. Would it be acceptable for me to call you Ono?"

Ono nodded.

Spencer felt like he was growing into his new leadership role. It helped that shaking hands wasn't generally a requirement in Pegasus. "Very good. Please have a seat. Sorry I don't have anything to offer you, but you know how it is." He waved a hand toward the door and walls of the tent, trying to put the man at ease. Spencer knew it wasn't something he managed well with strangers. "This is Ronon, and I believe you've previously met Lieutenant Phillips." Once everyone was seated, Spencer said, "Phillips says you spoke to him once about establishing a pair bond. We were hoping you could tell us what exactly that involves."

Ono kept himself relatively still and calm as he said, "The ritual is something private and not well known, even among my own people."

Spencer leaned forward and met Ono's eyes. He hoped the body language would communicate both his interest and determination as well as it did on Earth. "The last person to say something like that in this tent went on to attack me. He turned out to have reinfected himself with contaminated semen." Ono looked away and Spencer waited until he made eye contact again. "You'll have to forgive me if I'm not feeling too charitable about secrets right now. Those secrets may be helping to spread a weapon designed by a hybrid Wraith."

Ono looked around with the sort of shock often caused by Spencer's more obscure explanations. Both Ronon and Phillips backed up the seriousness of his accusations with stone cold stares.

Ono sat up taller in his chair. "Is this weapon what caused so many of my people to be prisoners here without clear memories of growing beards and partly healed wounds?"

"Yes," Spencer said.

"Why should I trust you? Why should I believe that those who now hold my people captive are in fact our rescuers?"

Spencer kept himself leaning forward, kept his eyes on Ono. "While you were busy fighting and forgetting, I went to your planet, spoke with a girl who calls herself Hunt Leader. That girl told me how the men of her village went crazy and killed almost all the women among their people. Why should I have helped rescue you when I fully believe you led your people in genocide? Only because I believe a common enemy was at least partly responsible. Would you rather start by explaining bonding rituals or trying to recover your memories of that massacre?"

Despite his stiff posture, Ono's eyes lost focus. Spencer could practically feel the shivers deep inside the leader as whatever scraps of memory returned.

Phillips reached out a hand to comfort the alien leader. Before Spencer could tell him "no," he saw Phillips' hand contact the bare skin on Ono's arm. Phillips' face tightened in shared pain, and then he was pulling the alien leader close. "He believes he betrayed his people and his bond mate, me," Phillips hissed at Spencer, his face buried in Ono's hair. "It wasn't your fault," the large Marine whispered, almost too quiet for others to hear.

The two men clung to each other, eyes closed, and Spencer felt the pull tightening between them. It was both pleasure and pain. It was the clearest, strongest feeling Spencer had ever sensed from someone else, and he could only guess that he was sensing what some people called a spirit bond. He turned away to give the two men some privacy before the interrogation continued.

#

"I am a grandmother on Utica." The old woman was wrapped in shawls and scarves more reminiscent of Muslims than grandmothers in Spencer's cultural experience, but the wrinkles on her face and the knobbiness of her hands seemed to garner some form of respect, or at least quiet attention from Earthlings, Athosians, and all others assembled. Teyla and Namar had arranged the community meetings and set up a sort of amphitheater at the end of the east pier. Woolsey insisted that Sheppard and McKay attend with him before their debrief, to show they supported cultural understanding. Spencer and Ronon were both curious to see how it went, and Spencer was soaking in the simple comfort from returning to Atlantis. "I am also a grandmother on Omal, TikTik, Neuruopal, and Sani Man Patil." The woman sat straight and proud.

Namar was acting as moderator and interviewer for the panel on stage today. He sat attentively to one side, maintaining very good posture, and looking very pleased with his role.

Spencer had missed the opening as he'd hurried to clean up after the excitement at the beta site, but he'd gathered today's topic involved different family structures and what people from Earth called adoption (although that term had already caused much confusion among the various Pegasus representatives). Namar asked with a shy smile, "Could you explain in the most simple terms, almost as you would to a young one, how you came to be a grandmother on so many worlds?"

"Not so many," the woman waved a hand lightly, as if downplaying a compliment. "Of nine children I gave birth, three gave birth to children of their own. Those all live on Omal or TikTik. My oldest live son also raises children from Neuropal. My sister and I raise grandchildren from Sani Man Patil." The way the woman lowered her head and half closed her eyes on the word translated as "raise" in those two sentences made Spencer suspect these were orphans after a culling. "When young women left alone on Utica, my sister and I bring our granddaughter of Sani Man Patil, only one still lives in our home. Living with so many almost grown granddaughters on Utica good for her, good for us. Young people bring life to us all."

Spencer thought about how there were never enough willing foster families on Earth, even with financial incentives and support systems in place. In the States only about half as many foster or adoptive families could be found as were needed, and with the current system, outcomes weren't good. Half the children raised in foster care were unemployed at age 25 and twenty percent were homeless. He wondered how such a system worked in Pegasus, where there must have been many orphans after Wraith cullings when children had not been with their parents.

Namar smiled shyly. "Grandmother, what advice would you give a man like me from another world if I wanted to spend time with one of your granddaughters?"

The old woman looked him up and down skeptically. "First, I would remind you that my family has friends on many worlds, many more worlds than I have named. You don't hurt my grandchildren if you want to see the sun go down on any of them." She practically growled the last. When Namar responded with a properly serious nod, she continued, "Second, I would ask about your family. Third, if I did not already know Athosians or if you were from someplace else"—she looked at the audience for the first time, showing she understood this was more than a casual talk—"I would ask your people's customs about shaving, cutting, piercing, or removing body parts." All that she said matter of factly. "Then we would discuss your planned activities, whether you were intending to court or something more casual. If the granddaughter you wanted to be with was not already present, I would call her to join us so that all might agree to plans, in a spirit of compromise and mutual enjoyment."

Spencer wasn't sure how close the ideal presented was to what actually took place in Pegasus or anywhere, but he thought many of the victims and even some of the unsubs he'd hunted down over the years, could have benefitted from community discussions such as this.

At the end, he helped Namar and Teyla clean up and compile suggestions for future discussions, so he and Teyla were both a little late to meet the others at the room McKay had designated for the much delayed debriefing.

"The Utica infant was exposed in utero, not conceived by an infected parent," Carson was telling the others as they arrived in a long narrow room with one full wall made of clear material. They were below the waterline of the pier and so had a view into the ocean surrounding Atlantis. "Without the y-chromosome component, it is unclear if the genetic modifications would have a significant effect. Still, I included the treatment as a precaution while treating for other infections, dehydration, and jaundice."

"Thank you, Dr. Beckett," Woolsey said.

"One other thing," Carson chimed in before Woolsey could move on. "Dr. Biro has researched existing treatments for the carrier virus that was used to deliver the engineered genes. There is an immunization that is 98 percent effective. It would prevent issues such as reinfection, and within the next week we could produce enough to protect a few thousand individuals."

"We could begin with our off world teams and cured prisoners, especially Healer Nok." Sheppard's words dripped with contempt for the Healer despite his apparently relaxed sprawl in one of the room's comfy chairs.

"Use your biggest needle on him," McKay added.

Ronon grunted.

Spencer felt a strange solidarity at not being the only one fed up with Nok and his schemes.

"Is it not true that other medical treatments from Earth also make use of this virus?" Teyla said. Spencer suspected she'd learned a lot about genetic therapies in the last few days. Carson had required fully informed consent before treating Torren.

Carson nodded at Teyla, clearly pleased to know she'd listened and understood so well.

"Those treatments are rare and mostly experimental at this time," Spencer said, drawing on the research he'd done for his last assignment with the BAU. "Current and future genetic treatments from Earth will mostly be based on newer technologies, such as engineered nucleases. The odds that even those stationed on Atlantis who plan to return to Earth would ever be candidates for any treatments that this immunization would curtail are small, less than one tenth of one percent."

Ronon tapped his boot against the transparent wall. An eel-like creature snapped forward trying to catch it. McKay rolled his eyes and started frantically tapping at his tablet.

"How soon would Nok realize if he tried to reinfect himself and it didn't take?" Sheppard asked.

"Hello?" McKay said. "No one who's been infected can remember clearly what it was like, and while they're still infected, they don't want to tell us anything. We have no measurable data on the experience."

"Nok may also have what some people call 'gifts' that allow him to know more about his own and other people's 'gifts' and 'bonding' status," Spencer added. He was surprised at how everyone stared at him. They'd agreed to mention gifts in the debrief today. The analyst was fairly sure McKay had used the community meeting as an excuse to move to this aquarium room partly so they wouldn't be interrupted or overheard.

Carson recovered first and spoke directly to Woolsey. "One of my assistants, Juarez, is looking into the genetics behind what people on Shan Mal and elsewhere call gifts. They will likely prove too multifactoral and possibly too tied to Ancient and Wraith genetics to be of real interest to the SGC or researchers on Earth." It was the first time Spencer had known Carson to lie, or at least spin the truth that much. He thought Woolsey saw it too, a warning or request to not spread information too far—information that could become a weapon or tool in Earth politics.

"Both Shan Mal and Sateda had stories about people with gifts that made them more empathic or better trackers. And you know how Teyla's people view the ability to sense Wraith and their mental projections." Spencer realized he had to say more, had to inform Woolsey about potential liabilities. "During investigations, it is sometimes necessary to consider information that does not seem believable in the form in which it is offered. I was given this bracelet"—Spencer briefly showed the others the beaded band around his wrist—"by a man in Miami who said I needed its protection. I didn't believe him, but when Healer Nok tried to infect me using a bracelet with similar colors today, he reacted strongly when I showed him this. He could have been angered solely by the impediment to his plans, but I find it suspicious that he chose colors so similar." Spencer did not mention the colors of the spirit snake or the way the creature had seemed to pull away from Spencer just before the incident. "Nok also claimed that I was somehow vulnerable because I was partially bonded, something a professor on Shan Mal had similarly deduced and commented upon."

Woolsey asked with a pinched look of aggravation, "Are you one of these gifted types?"

#

_"Are you one of those autistic types?" a local police officer asked from the doorway to the right. Spencer must have seemed lost in his own world as the paramedics checked over the unsub, the paranoid schizophrenic unsub Spencer had talked down, talked into releasing two kids. But instead of setting down his knife, the unsub had lunged forward. He'd lunged away from yet another living room couch and flowered curtains. He'd lunged toward Spencer and the too vivid, insomnia enhanced hallucinations that Spencer could almost feel gathered behind him._

_Spencer had been caught up in the unsub's despair and desperation as Morgan shot the man to save Spencer. As the unsub, younger than Spencer and suffering the sort of psychotic break Spencer had always feared, passed beyond the help of paramedics, Spencer felt something letting go. He felt the moment of detachment._

_"Are you one of those autistic types?" The words rang in Spencer's head with years of questions trying to classify Spencer's differences: "Are you some kind of crazy?" "Is the kid ADD or something?" "What makes you so selfish?" "How could someone so smart be so stupid?"_

_Spencer knew he wasn't stupid. He knew he wasn't autistic in the sense of "lacking consideration for others." He couldn't help but perceive and care about other people's emotions. But he didn't necessarily perceive them the way others wanted him to, and there was no way he could function if he followed his instincts to try to sort out and respond to the constant barrage. When he'd first realized how differently other people experienced their own emotions and those of the people around them, he'd asked questions and done research. That was part of what drove him to earn a degree in psychology, but he still missed social and emotional cues sometimes._

_He looked at the policewoman to his right who'd asked him if he was "one of those autistic types." Spencer knew a lot of people from Caltech and in the fannish community who described themselves as "on the spectrum" or "a little autistic." He'd also known people who were professionally diagnosed as having autism or Asperger's, but it wasn't something he'd focused on when he studied psychology._

_"I'm sorry, do I seem overly focused on the man dying at my feet? I'm the person he was talking to before he was shot. Do you see my difficulty in communicating in my failure to talk him out of his delusion or in my failure to respond as you deem appropriate?" The policewoman's emotions were not impacting on Spencer at all. Whatever she felt was locked down tight. "If I respond in a way you don't expect, must you immediately jump to a diagnosis? Could you accept that my reaction might be perfectly justified within my own frame of reference and any answer to how I am different might be too complex to explain in a few minutes at a crime scene? If the English language with approximately one million words or the average person's vocabulary of 20,000 to 35,000 words is insufficient for me to explain my reaction to you, does the problem with communication or social interaction lie with me?"_

_The woman stared._

_Morgan swooped in from the other side, "Come on, pretty boy. Let's go outside and see those kids." It was an obvious diversion from the dying unsub, but Spencer allowed himself to be led. He let the honest concern from a friend surround him as they left the final detachment of death behind._

#

Spencer met Woolsey's eyes and said, "At this time, all of our context for these attributes or gifts comes from cultures at least as alien to me as I am to you. If Dr. Beckett comes up with a test, he may find I have X, Y, or Z just like he told me I had ATA a couple weeks ago. Rather than trying to sort out labels, we need contingencies in our planning for any genetic or other factors that might be in play."

"Dr. Beckett," Woolsey asked, pointedly looking away from Spencer, "In your professional medical opinion, is there reason to be concerned about additional risks involving Dr. Reid and as yet undetermined genetic markers?"

"No more so than for the rest of us," Carson replied calmly.

McKay jostled his tablet, and Spencer suspected Sheppard had just kicked him under the low table between them. Spencer noticed a small swarm of silvery fish outside the window wall shifted left just as McKay's tablet moved. The corner of McKay's mouth curved up as he flashed a look at Ronon. Ronon pretended to ignore him, but Spencer could tell he'd been watching the fish.

"And what about the partial bonding idea?" Woolsey asked.

"I very much doubt we'll be able to tie that to genetics," Carson said.

Sheppard didn't react, but from the way McKay shifted sideways, Spencer deduced that it had been the scientist's turn at a playful kick. Whatever relationship McKay had with Sheppard and Beckett, it certainly made meetings and missions more interesting, at least to the part of Spencer's mind that liked puzzles. As McKay's tablet moved in the opposite direction, so did the fish. Sheppard and Ronon clearly noticed. Carson had a soft, fond look on his face, although Spencer couldn't tell if he was watching the fish or just McKay and Sheppard.

Teyla pretended to ignore them and said, "Perhaps one of our community discussions could include various people's beliefs about gifts and bonding."

"Are the terms that commonly known in Pegasus?" Woolsey asked leaning forward.

"There seems one clear way to find out." Teyla folded her hands silently on the table.

"Like sex ed and the Avengers all rolled into a daily pointless panel discussions," Rodney muttered.

"Not quite daily, and with your vast experience, I am sure the panel you participate in will not be pointless," Teyla said.

"What! I'm not—" Rodney lifted his tablet and the fish all shifted up.

"Team is," Ronon cut him off.

When Rodney opened his mouth again, Spencer wasn't sure whether the under table kick or Teyla's penetrating gaze kept him silent. His tablet didn't move this time. Spencer took the opportunity to say, "It seems that Philips and Ono both clearly believe they've begun some sort of bonding process. In the interest of cultural awareness and contingency planning, it might help to keep Phillips posted with the Uticas for a while."

"What exactly is involved in this bonding?" Woolsey asked.

"That's proven to be a surprisingly difficult question to answer," said Spencer.

"As far as contingencies," Sheppard drew the words out until all eyes were on him, "whether or not that Nok guy figures out he can't reinfect himself, I want to put a tracker on him and his Gate when he returns to Paca. The list Lorne compiled of planets he visited didn't overlap with any of the others captured."

"No great Healers of Pegasus Convention to investigate?" Rodney picked up his tablet to work. The fish started to disperse. "I can rig the Paca Gate to alert us or the alpha site after anyone infected or any of Michael's clones pass through."

"The way Nok said he'd met with New Light twice, it sounded like he was hedging the truth. He was the only one who reinfected himself and presented as a true believer independent of the genetic alteration." A blue fish with a yellow stomach rushed in to eat one of the stragglers from the silver swarm. The other silver fish fled. "Is it possible he used something like radio or Wraith telepathy to communicate with New Light through the Gate?"

"I could set up an alert for radio or transmissions that don't defy the laws of physics," McKay said.

"We could set a watch in an invisible Jumper," Spencer suggested. "He could have a dead drop or unknown contact on Paca. Or if there is something like telepathy involved that we can't monitor on the electromagnetic spectrum, we might see him react to a message."

"You are overly fond of leaving staffed, cloaked Jumpers on other planets," Sheppard complained.

"If you have invisible flying ships when no one else does, you might as well put them to use." Spencer smiled when Ronon grunted in support. There weren't any fish left in front of the viewing wall.

#

"Movie night," Ronon said and pulled Spencer into a room full of couches and bean bag chairs.

Sheppard and Carson were in one corner fussing over three huge bowls of popcorn. They bumped hips and shoulders while juggling real butter and at least three types of seasoning. Spencer's mouth watered at the smell.

McKay was huddled over his tablet right in the center of one couch. Teyla, Kanaan, and Torren were arranging beanbags and pillows on the floor to resemble a nest. Spencer was overwhelmed with warm feelings for the newly recovered Torren and wasn't entirely sure how much of that he was absorbing from the small family. When Torren finally noticed Spencer he said, "We should watch boats movie!"

Spencer laughed. He didn't know what to say or how movies were chosen. Probably the boy knew a lot more in this context. Torren carried on talking to his father and didn't seem to expect a response from Spencer.

Ronon motioned Spencer to a couch that looked like a folded version of an Ancient bed. The furniture left behind by the Ancients had survived well enough that they certainly could be sitting on an original Ancient couch, but then again, the beds on Atlantis were made of a similar covered foam material. On Earth, benches with pillows, dated back to at least the Roman klinai, but actual padded couches or sofas originated in Europe in the seventeenth century. Spencer was fairly certain the couches and beanbags in the movie room had been created to suit current Earth sensibilities.

Ronon sat down beside Spencer, and Sheppard handed him a bowl of spicy popcorn before handing one to Teyla and another to McKay. Then Carson and Sheppard sat on either side of the scientist.

"Everyone ready?" Sheppard asked.

McKay set aside his tablet but lifted the bowl of popcorn in the air and glanced pointedly at his lap. "You're not. Lie down so you can hold my popcorn."

"I think it's our popcorn and you're holding it just fine." Sheppard popped a piece into his mouth to demonstrate.

"No, no, no. Not rearranging just because Ronon brought a friend. Set the doors to your super strength override lock if you want, but get your head in my lap and start the stupid movie before my popcorn gets cold."

" _Our_ popcorn," Sheppard corrected, but he lay down on his back with his head on McKay's thigh. McKay set the popcorn bowl right where Sheppard's ribs met his stomach and had a handful in his mouth by the time the lights dimmed and a movie called _ParaNorman_ started playing on the wall without any sign of a projector or flat screen TV.

Spencer spent a few minutes wondering if Ronon's team watched animated kids' movies because of Torren as he thought back to Ronon's explanation of _Cinderella_. By then he realized _ParaNorman_ was playing with societal stereotypes in an entirely different way than any kids' movie he'd ever seen. By the time he fell in love with a minor character named Salma who carried a book called _My First Nuclear Fusion Reactor_ and challenged societal assumptions about witches, he could have written academic analyses in linguistics, sociology, and psychology around the movie's portrayal of strong female and youth characters and unreliable authority figures.

For the first time since the movie started he glanced around the room. Teyla's family was cuddled up together like a pile of puppies. Carson had one arm wrapped around McKay's shoulders and the opposite hand supporting Sheppard's neck. McKay was massaging Sheppard's scalp in his lap, and Sheppard's eyes were half lidded, his body sprawled across the couch like a teenage jeans model in a glossy ad. Spencer shifted closer to Ronon and was pleased when the larger man looped his non-injured arm around Spencer's chest and pulled him in tight to his side.

After the last of the movie credits, which had fabulous animation and music of their own, Spencer said, "Are other kids' movies this subversive now?"

"The people that made this also did _Coraline_. They're working on something new about a boy who lives in a box and thinks he's a box troll. I have some unofficial preview footage if you're interested," McKay said. He was still stroking Sheppard's hair. The Colonel was pretending to be asleep, but Spencer doubted he was fooling any of his teammates.

"The boy's gift for seeing ghosts is not unlike what we face here as far as some people's gifts," Teyla said. She started to stroke her son's hair. He was truly falling asleep.

"Did one of you choose the movie for that?" Spencer asked.

"Ronon said he had to tell us something. I guessed this might be appropriate." Carson smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "But first, I brought something extra."

Carson slid off the couch without disturbing McKay or Sheppard. He opened a panel on the wall and pulled out several small bowls of the chocolate mousse they'd had with dinner and an Earthenware jug. "Teyla helped me obtain some of the honey and blossoms liqueur her people served at the last solstice festival. I thought it would pair well with tonight's dessert." He poured each of them a small glass and passed those around with the chocolate mousse.

McKay moaned over the fluffy sweet chocolate. Teyla and Kanaan shared a brief kiss after their first sips of the complicated liquor. Sheppard continued with his pretense of sleep. Carson set aside the desserts for him and for Torren, who was fully asleep by then. Spencer let himself relax into the moment, with delicious food and people who appeared to be his friends, or in Ronon's case, something more.

When they'd all finished their second dessert and set their dishes and glasses aside, Carson said, "Now what did you want to tell us?"

Spencer began. "Once Ono rediscovered his bond mate, he told us a little about his people's rituals and their lore around bonding. He wasn't completely forthcoming and seemed less aware of the spirit animals and specific gifts than Tok was. However, he listed four milestones his training suggested bond mates should meet before being separated from each other. In their broadest outlines, they match ways Ronon's people marked significant pairings, although he hadn't previously associated that with gifts or known anything about bond mates." Spencer noted how every pair of eyes and ears, aside from those who were asleep or pretending to be, focused on him. "They're also not entirely different from certain Earth and Athosian rituals. The four were: mental intimacy, physical intimacy, a declaration in front of others, and some sort of marks or tokens."

In the hush that followed Ronon spoke in Satedan as others heard the translation, "I declare my intent to keep Spencer Reid as my own, to value him in all ways, and to show him care every day of his life."

Spencer had known it was coming. They had discussed every word of the traditional Satedan vow after their meeting with Ono. Still, his throat tightened to where he wasn't sure he could speak.

Ronon lifted one warm palm to gently caress Spencer's cheek.

Spencer swallowed and spoke in Satedan. "I declare my intent to keep Ronon Dex as my own, to value him in all ways, and to show him care every day of his life." Then he switched to English, "For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health."

Ronon repeated the final phrase in English. It was a part both of them had chosen out of all the traditions Spencer had known growing up. It was the part that carried the most emotional weight for him, and Ronon appreciated the clarity. When they kissed, Spencer tingled all over and forgot everyone present except his bond mate.

Spencer opened eyes he hadn't meant to close as he heard McKay whispering loudly, "Just open your eyes already. Even I know it's rude to pretend to sleep though wedding vows."

Sheppard kept his eyes closed, and McKay continued to stroke his crazy hair.

When Spencer looked toward Teyla she said, "We are honored to witness your commitment to each other."

"We also made this." Spencer pulled the collar of his shirt aside to show where Ronon had copied the lines and dots tattoo from his neck onto Spencer's, but lower down, near his clavicle. Then they had added to both their necks a horizontal "S" that curved around and under the original mark. "Ronon's people traditionally combined two different tattoos when a couple was serious. In the past he wouldn't have used his rank mark, but it's come to represent his heritage to him." Spencer looked at Ronon who was gazing at him with calm fascination, still caught up in the moment and ignoring the room at large. "I have no personal or familial history of tattoos, but we both liked how the 'S' fit with the pattern. For now, we used a permanent marker, but we're hoping someone can recommend a reputable tattoo artist."

Carson smiled and nodded indulgently. "We found an Ancient device meant for removing marks that can also be used to imbed them permanently in a safe and sterile manner. Several Marines and others have used it for body art since we returned to Pegasus, and all agree the results are aesthetically pleasing and painless."

Spencer tried not to bounce with joy at the words "painless" and "sterile." While he'd survived a great deal of pain in the past and had been more than willing to go through with a local tattoo process for Ronon, his current investigation had made him even more cautious about any physical exposure. While he knew some risks involving body art had been overstated as scare tactics, even in the States approximately ten percent of tattoos led to allergic reactions of infections of some sort, and a few noteworthy incidents had been chronic or life threatening. Carson's offer of a more technological, medical option made him feel better and safer.

Ronon ran a thumb around his mark on Spencer's neck as if he read his mind. "Okay," was all he said.

"Can you do it now?" Spencer asked Carson.

The doctor chuckled, "I would be honored. If you'd like, I could bring the device here. It's small enough, and I suspect you see enough of the infirmary already."

"Comfortable," McKay grumbled.

"I'll only be gone a minute," Carson soothed as he slid off the couch beside McKay.

"I'll steal John's dessert," McKay threatened

"No you won't. Make more popcorn if you're hungry," Carson said as he left.

McKay looked down with a small frown at Sheppard's head in his lap but didn't stop stroking his hair.

"I can make popcorn," Spencer said, getting up, "if I can figure out the spices you use."

"I'll help," Ronon offered, staying close.

The technology for making popcorn was an Earth microwave that included a "popcorn" button. There were packets of popcorn in a basket on the corner of the counter. "This is a level of cooking I can handle," Spencer said, "just one package?"

"My family is quite finished," Teyla said.

"I'm not," Ronon said. "Let's make two."

He found the bowls and spice shakers used earlier and wrapped his arms around Spencer when the first package finished popping. As Spencer emptied the popcorn into a bowl, Ronon sprinkled spices from both sides: "Pepper and Asiago from Earth, Shana Pasut from New Athos."

"Don't forget the butter!" McKay called out.

Ronon leaned forward, pressing pleasantly against Spencer's back, to grab a butter dish left out from earlier. He flicked a couple slices in before the microwave pinged and they made the next batch.

"Would they let us bring Athosian spices back to Earth, do you think?" Spencer asked as they finished mixing the popcorn. "I'm going to need gifts for my old team at some point. This stuff tastes great, and it would drive them nuts trying to figure out where it came from."

"I am pleased that you enjoy this fusion with our cuisine," Teyla said. "I could help you barter for spices at our small morning market if you would like."

"That would be great," Spencer said. Ronon gave him a quick kiss on the temple before delivering a bowl of popcorn to McKay. They were happily settled with their own popcorn by the time Carson returned with a device that looked like a pancake on a leash and a small first responder backpack.

"I brought an extra marker in case you need to touch up the art," Carson said. "First, use one of these wipes to clean the surrounding skin. You don't want any stray marks made permanent."

Spencer washed around Ronon's tattoo with the added "S" first. "I don't think they need any touching up." As Ronon washed the skin around the symbol he'd drawn on Spencer, it seemed perfect that the first mark Ronon made on him could be preserved forever, since he certainly had no intention of using the Ancient device to remove it, ever.

It took less than a minute for Carson to align and activate the sticky pancake part of the device on Ronon's neck. Then he placed it on Spencer's slightly lower mark. "That's it?"Spencer asked. "They're permanent and don't need any special care?"

"Aye, better than any tattoo parlor on Earth or here," Carson smiled as he returned to his place by McKay and Sheppard.

"Would you like me to take a picture, to commemorate?" Teyla asked.

Spencer didn't usually wear his clothing open enough to show down to his clavicle, but this moment was special. He was wearing the black shirt Amy had given him back in high school, when she helped reframe his life. Ronon was wearing a simple black tank-style shirt that should be able to pass for Earth clothing. "I guess I could send a copy to Penelope. She'll probably scream to see I have a tattoo, and I haven't sent her a picture with Ronon yet."

"I am certain your friend will be very happy for you." Teyla slid out from the nest with her family, leaving Torren completely in Kanaan's arms without even waking the boy. "Do you have a tablet with you? I did not bring mine."

Spencer pulled it from his messenger bag, and a moment later he was staring at a picture of himself held close beside Ronon at the perfect angle to show both their tattoos. They were only sitting together on a couch, but the lighting was good, and it somehow didn't look casual at all. Spencer realized he was effectively looking at his wedding picture.

Ronon must have sensed some of his mood, because he leaned forward and kissed the corner of Spencer's mouth.

"Thanks, Teyla, Carson. This is…" Spencer shrugged and put the tablet away.

"I hate to pry," Carson said, "but did Ono give you any further ideas about requirements for mental and physical intimacy in bonding?"

A burst of negative emotion drew Spencer's gaze to Sheppard, and it was startling how clear that could be as he grew into his gift. The usual indications were there as well. The Colonel's chest rose with a quick inhale. The pulse in his throat sped up even as Spencer watched. McKay must have seen or felt something, because he moved his free hand to rest along Sheppard's side.

Previously, Spencer had concluded that Sheppard was either asexual or close to it, now he wondered what sort of intimacy issues or trauma his upbringing and years in the military might have layered on top of that. He also knew the man was smarter than he appeared and had an odd form of strategic thinking. It was possible Sheppard had anticipated this part of the conversation and pretended to sleep so he could be present without interacting. Spencer couldn't say he'd never tried the same trick on the BAU jet after a case.

"Ono acknowledged that there were other paths than mediation and sex." Spencer watched for reactions but observed none. "He wasn't inclined to elaborate, but he implied these steps would happen naturally given enough time. If you've been together for a few years, separations or whatever else are probably not a problem."

"Pegasus if full of rituals and superstitions." McKay waved the hand not in Sheppard's hair as he spoke. "There's no way we're forcing anyone to make vows or have sex, or, or, or—meditate—over some vague threats made by some crazy healer shaman person."

"I would never suggest forcing anyone," Spencer said. Ronon pulled him closer than they'd been for the tattoo picture. Any closer and he would have been sitting in Ronon's lap.

"I would mention," Teyla said, "That both Kanaan and I felt a strong desire to meditate together, as well as to exchange vows and tokens, after he recovered from Michael's earlier experiment. I believe many people discover the correct path for themselves naturally, and we should be considered fully bonded." Kanaan smiled at her over their sleeping child.

"Agreed," Carson said, and Spencer could see the Colonel was starting to calm a bit. "We also maintain marks of a sort," Carson said. He tugged at first McKay's collar and then his own to display what could only be called hickeys or love bites. McKay motioned toward John's black wristband but didn't say or show anything. "We have only taken vows in front of each other, as none of us come from places that would recognize a relationship between the three of us. The rest is open to definitions of intimacy, but I have certainly felt our relationship was more complete since certain military regulations were removed and we were able to enjoy movie nights in this way."

McKay seemed to curl protectively around Sheppard's head at that, and Spencer wondered how much physical contact Sheppard had denied himself until the repeal of Don't Ask Don't Tell. Whatever other barriers the Colonel had to overcome, the way he'd relaxed into McKay's touch over the last two hours spoke volumes.

Then Sheppard surprised them all by speaking, "I want to say it in front of them." He spoke with his eyes closed and almost without inflection in his voice. The emotional blast of need and fear that he projected with the words hit Spencer like a punch to the gut, and Spencer wondered how deep Sheppard's pretenses and masks ran.

Carson flinched as if startled by the emotion behind the sudden words as well. Then he reached across to take John's hand and pull it to his chest. His fingers looped around Sheppard's wrist, above the black band. "Whatever you want, John." When the silence stretched Carson said, "John, tell us."

Looking incredibly vulnerable with his eyes closed and Carson and McKay holding him, Sheppard spoke calmly. "Atlantis is the closest thing I've ever known to home, and I plan to stay forever. Those in this room along with a few others are my chosen family, and I will never betray their trust." There was a moment's hesitation and just a little more quietly Sheppard finished with, "Rodney and Carson are the best things that ever happened to me, and I will love them to the best of my ability forever."

McKay's mouth opened and closed silently.

Carson replied with, "You are so much more than you give yourself credit for. Someday, I hope to help you see that." Then he tightened his grip on McKay's shoulder and Sheppard's wrist. His love for them filled the air, filled the room. "Of all the people I care for, I care for you, Rodney and John, the most. You help me to understand myself and others in ways I'd never dreamed, and I want nothing more than to spend every day of my life giving you my understanding and love."

McKay seemed to have calmed as Carson spoke. He recovered his voice enough to say, "They're going to think we're possessed or mind controlled or something. Yes, I love both of you and plan to keep you. If you'll only let me do more in private then let's go someplace private." He pushed Sheppard off the couch, and the man finally opened his eyes to land on his feet.

As Sheppard reached to pull the scientist up, he said, "Yeah, I'm totally blaming possession, mind control, or out of control botany experiments if anyone mentions this again."

Carson shook his head and said to the rest of the room, "I guess we'll see you all tomorrow."

"We are honored to have shared this moment and to witness your commitment to each other," Teyla said as she scooped up her sleeping child and stood. Kanaan began to gather used dishes from around the room, and Spencer hurried to help him. He followed Kanaan to a panel in the wall through which the dishes would evidently be returned to the mess.

"Welcome to the family," Kanaan said softly.

"Thanks," Spencer said, before the Athosians left.

As the door shut behind them, he went to sit on Ronon's lap, avoiding his hurt thigh. He sat sideways but pressed in close. "I'm ready to have sex if you are. It's not about bonding. I swear."

Ronon took a deep breath, breathing Spencer in and then sucking lightly at his earlobe. Spencer's body tensed and melted, both at the same time. "I want to, but…" Ronon used his hurt arm to gesture toward his hurt leg.

"That doesn't matter to me," Spencer said. "You wouldn't have to do a thing. Just let me touch you. Let me love you. I won't do anything you don't want."

"I want it all," Ronon said. "But I want our first time to be perfect, something we'll always remember."

Spencer couldn't contain his chuckle. "I will always remember every moment I have with you. If you need it to be a certain way, I can wait. But everything in me says I need to touch you all over. You said before that your hearing and sense of smell were your gift. Mine is touch and emotion. Let me give what I have, and you can hear and smell and give your full attention to remembering it all. Does that sound good to you?"

"I know a place. Trust me?"

#

They ended up on a tower roof halfway across the city. It was dark with barely a sliver of moon but many more stars than Spencer was used to, even when away from cities on Earth. The air was chilly and filled with the slightly different salty smell of the surrounding ocean.

"Can you smell the difference between oceans on different planets?" Spencer asked as Ronon dragged a tarp wrapped bundle from a box by the stairs.

"I can smell the difference between different bodies of water on the same planet." Ronon unrolled the tarp to reveal one of the futon-like Ancient mattresses, a couple of blankets, and a pillow.

"You sleep here a lot?" Spencer asked.

Ronon's face went still and serious. "Used to. First year here it was hard to sleep inside. Hard to talk to people. Hard to understand all the references to Earth. Better now. Most never guessed the first." Ronon looked sideways at Spencer with a bit of mischief. "Most still believe the rest." Crowding into Spencer's personal space, the Satedan said, "You weren't fooled for long."

Then they were kissing and Spencer didn't know how he could keep standing. His legs didn't want to support him and he wanted so badly to be lying down with Ronon. "Less clothing," he managed to say in a hoarse grunt, and realized he sounded like his bond mate.

Ronon must have thought something similar, because he chuckled. The vibrations rang Spencer's body like a bell. "Okay, but don't rush."

Spencer took a deep breath, remembering how Ronon wanted their first time to be perfect and also remembering his lover's injured arm and thigh. "Let me undress you? Let me touch you all over?"

"Okay," Ronon said.

Soon they stood facing each other again. Spencer slid Ronon's vest off first. His hands flowed over the Satedan's muscular arms, very careful of the still bandaged shoulder. Ronon's elbows were rough. The veins on his inner arms were less prominent than Spencer's own and practically invisible under his tan skin in the dim light. Spencer traced the lines of triangular tattoos on his left forearm, but didn't feel like asking the meaning of the body art just then. He couldn't turn off the sociologist part of himself, but he could focus on smooth skin instead.

Running his hands over the wrists guards, he asked, "Can I remove these too?"

"I don't usually, but you can," Ronon said.

Knowing that part of his lover was rarely uncovered made Spencer want it even more. He undid the laces and then studied each wrist with his finger tips. He traced the bones, ligaments and muscles. The warm pulse beat hard under his fingers. Spencer lifted the strong hands one by one and passed his lips over each pulse point, making Ronon shudder.

The simple black shirt Ronon wore was easy to remove even with a shoulder injury. Spencer wondered how often the warrior had injuries that called for particular clothing as he stoked lightly up the sides of Ronon's ribs. He kissed just above the right nipple as he finished pulling the shirt over the injured arm.

Ronon hissed. "I can smell your hair, your skin, your arousal."

Spencer licked the nipple and pressed their bodies together, pressed the side of his face into Ronon's hard chest. His erection pressed against Ronon's and they both groaned.

"If you want me to take this slow," Spencer said, "and I do want to touch you all over"—he ran hands up and down Ronon's back to demonstrate—"maybe I should start by giving you a massage."

"Tough with the shoulder and a mat on the ground. Not great lying on my stomach right now."

Spencer felt only the smallest signs of tension in Ronon's body at the admission. "Then lie on your back and let me rub your feet and legs. Is it still okay if I remove your pants?"

"More than okay," Ronon rolled his hips slowly, and Spencer's legs felt weak again. "Take your clothes off too? If you won't be too cold."

Spencer undid two more buttons on his shirt before pulling it off in one motion. Ronon's hands were immediately stroking along his back and waist. Both men reached to unfasten each other's pants at the same time. Ronon's laces took a little longer than Spencer's button and zipper, but Ronon turned out to have nothing underneath.

"Oh god," Spencer said, suddenly breathless. Ronon breathed into Spencer's hair as his hands slid under Spencer's boxers and slacks, pushing both down together.

To work Ronon's leather pants all the way down his legs, Spencer had to pull away and squat down. The temptation to wrap his mouth around the hard cock in front of him was almost overwhelming. It had been so long. He wanted Ronon so much.

He looked up and met Ronon's eyes. The pupils were blown, but it was rather dark. Ronon reached a rough hand to stroke the side of Spencer's face and back into his hair.

Then Ronon pulled back and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

Spencer unfastened Ronon's boots and maneuvered his pants over his feet as Ronon deposited a small arsenal of knives and his blaster at arm's reach from the bedding. By the time Ronon laid flat on his back, cock standing proud, Spencer had managed to kick off his own pants and shoes.

He crawled naked onto the bed roll and ran his hands up and down Ronon's legs. Ronon yanked away the gauze covering his thigh wound, and Spencer was relieved the see only a two inch cut, already closed and healing, although the skin around it was redder than the rest.

"You heal fast," Spencer said.

"Ancient medical stuff," Ronon answered.

Spencer smoothed his hands near the injury but started his massage lower down. He avoided the places he thought of as most erotic on the inner thigh, wanting Ronon to benefit from the massage rather than tense with more arousal. The moan Ronon let out, while mostly not sexual, still went straight to Spencer's cock. He felt like he was taunting himself by trying to give a massage while he was so turned on, but he rather liked that Ronon was waiting with him, wanting to make the most of the experience.

Once he'd worked his way along both thighs and both calves, Spencer took Ronon's left foot into his lap. He began by stoking along the arch and then worked his thumbs in circles all around the heel. When he worked the arch again using a fist to provide a rocking pressure Ronon groaned. "Had no idea feet could feel like that. Runs up my leg to my whole body."

"There's a long history of foot massage on Earth for both therapeutic purposes and relaxation," Spencer said as he worked both hands along the ankle bone. "There are illustrations in Egypt dating back 4000 year that show practitioners of what some people call reflexology. Egyptian physicians recorded some of the earliest studies of anatomy and even surgery. The Chinese also practiced reflexology and believed that healing energy could be released by applying pressure to certain points." Spencer used a milking stroke to work his way down Ronon's foot again. "Modern research has documented some benefits, like improved breathing among cancer patients using reflexology. Interestingly, the control version of foot massage used in that study, designed to not overlap with the tenants of reflexology, showed a significant decrease in patient fatigue that wasn't found in the reflexology group or the control group that received no form of foot massage."

Spencer let his fingers trace the base of Ronon's toes and then slide between each pair. Ronon hissed and his cock twitched. "Some cultures practice erotic foot massage. I wish I knew more about it. Also, having some kind of oil or lotion usually helps."

Ronon's good arm groped around in the pillow case until he pulled out a tightly sealed jar which he tossed to Spencer.

"Oooh, you've been doing more than just sleeping up here, I guess." Spencer opened the jar and dipped a finger into the mostly solid oily substance. It smelled sweet but natural, almost like a Jeffrey pine tree. Spencer took his time working it between Ronon's toes, sliding his finger back and forth and tracing the webbing.

"Nothing wrong with pleasing yourself where I come from," Ronon said in a rough whisper, eyes closed and attention clearly focused on Spencer's touch, and possibly also on the scent as his nose twitched.

"Nothing wrong with it from my point of view. I can't be held accountable for other people from Earth," Spencer couldn't keep his eyes off Ronon's cock as he said it. Not even fully erect, it was still huge. Spencer hadn't had anyone inside him except Ashok, and he wondered how it would feel with Ronon. He certainly wasn't ready for that tonight, but he definitely wanted to try eventually.

He shifted over to take the other foot in his lap, and Ronon managed to point his toes and graze Spencer's cock in the process. "You like doing this?" Ronon asked.

"I like anything to do with you, and I think it's going to take a while for me to get over being touch deprived in general," Spencer admitted as he started with Ronon's arch again.

"That's what you call it?"

"Touch deprived, touch starved, skin hungry…"

"Huh." Ronon's face softened with a slight frown. "Thought Earth lacked the concept. All translate to 'bonaca' in Satedan. I was bonaca when I came here after seven years on my own, but Earth people acted like they didn't know the concept. No one offered to hug or hold me until I was ready for sex again. Strange way to do things."

Ronon's arousal faded a bit with the memory. Spencer put everything he had into massaging the second foot, but he didn't know what to say.

"Come up here," Ronon finally said.

Spencer moved to lie on Ronon's right, away from both injuries. Ronon pulled him in tight to his side, and Spencer couldn't help but react to all the skin pressed against the front of his body. Ronon tangled his fingers in Spencer's hair, inhaling deeply. Spencer slid his leg to press against the base of Ronon's cock and let his hand explore the hair along Ronon's chest. Even from the side, he could hear as Ronon's breathing and heartbeat came into sync with his own. That small detail made him feel hot inside, made him want to press their bodies together so they merged into one.

His breath caught. Ronon gave him a nudge. "Lie on top of me."

Spencer shifted carefully, letting his left leg fall between Ronon's, keeping all his weight on Ronon's uninjured side.

"Don't have to be that careful," the big man said as he spread his legs wider and nudged Spencer's right leg in between as well. Their cocks aligned, and Spencer could only hold on and breathe as Ronon rocked beneath him.

Spencer felt sweat starting to form between their bodies, despite the cool night air. The earthy smell he'd absorbed with his memories of Ronon grew stronger, along with the scents of Ronon's hair and the oil on his feet. Their hearts and breathing sped up as they both grew harder. Spencer reached his still oily hand between then to wrap around both their cocks, providing extra friction and lubrication at once.

A full body shudder passed through Ronon and he made a brief keening sound. The noise called up something primal in Spencer and sent a shudder through him as well.

"Stop," Ronon said.

Spencer froze in place, hand still wrapped around their cocks, his body still pressed to Ronon's sweaty chest. It should have been frustrating, but all he cared about was understanding his lover in that moment. "What's wrong?"

"I—" Ronon sounded truly hesitant in a way Spencer had never heard before. "I need control."

"Anything," Spencer said. "I may have some trigger reactions to ropes, but you can hold me down, order me around, whatever you want."

"No." Ronon shook his head. His whole body moved side to side beneath Spencer. "This is too good. I'm so caught up in you that I'm going to lose control of my body, my senses, my gift. I can't let that happen."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Bad things happen if Trackers follow their abilities down too far. They get lost. Can't find their way back."

"I read about something called 'zone outs' from a Guide who studied Sentinels on Earth. If I'm your Guide, then I can keep you anchored or bring you back. If you focus on more than one sense, you might not get lost at all, but if we're going to do this, I need you to trust that I will bring you back, whatever happens."

"I trust you, but everything in my life says I have to keep control."

"I lost control with you already. Remember the first time we kissed? I was shivering and desperate. I didn't know what to do. You kissed me and I was steady again."

"You'll save me with a magic kiss?"

"Whatever it takes."

"Kiss me while we do this. Give me more to focus on."

"Gladly."

Spencer propped his free arm beside Ronon's head and kissed him with all his own need behind it. As their tongues stroked, their bodies started to rock. The slickness of the oil combined with slickness of precome and sweat. Spencer felt the legs he'd massaged rubbing against the sides of his own. He felt the hair on Ronon's chest brush against his nipples.

The want and arousal they shared became a cocoon around them, like wool building up a static charge. Whether it was his gift or the intensity of the moment, Spencer could feel Ronon's trust and love surrounding him. His own trust and love responded, melded with his bond mate. They fell over the edge together.

Spencer moaned and hummed his appreciation into the mouth still pressed against his own. His whole body seemed to hum and tingle. He didn't feel psychic, like when they first kissed and Ronon picked up his random thought about cat myths. He felt connected. He felt complete.

Not really doubting for a moment he asked, "You with me?"

Ronon answered on a sigh, "Always."

#

"Jumper Bay, now. Nok is on the move." The call came over their radios simultaneously. Spencer and Ronon left their half full lunch trays on the table in the mess as they rushed for the transporter.

"He didn't even wait a full day," Spencer said. "Either he's testing his freedom or worried no one will be there if he waits. Or he may be desperate to reinfect himself and not yet realize it won't work." All those captured had now been immunized for the carrier virus but not told. Only Nok and a few others had been released, with either covert surveillance or an overt presence to negotiate testing of their home populations. Those on Atlantis who didn't want the immunization were not currently being assigned off world, so Spencer and Ronon had both accepted it.

Within three minutes of leaving the mess they were inside Jumper One, strapping on TAC vests. Sheppard and McKay were in front. Spencer wondered if Teyla was staying behind for family reasons, because she was busy elsewhere, or because their enemy was likely to kill women but focus on infecting men. He wasn't going to ask. He hadn't noticed if women were among the military loading into jumpers two through six.

"Any signs I should know about?" Sheppard asked over his shoulder as the Gate opened.

Spencer knew he meant spirit animals and wished he could feel comfortable speaking a little more openly about such matters. "Nothing," was all he said.

Then Sheppard was speaking to all his troops. "We have a go. Follow at thirty second intervals."

Their Jumper passed through the Gate first and Spencer was startled by a series of bangs and thumps that rattled through the walls of the Jumper but didn't seem to knock them off course. Large rocks, sticks, and vines fell across the front of the Jumper. The trees ahead of them suddenly dropped and shifted left. Spencer's stomach twisted as his visual system perceived the sudden maneuver to the right and upward that the inertial dampeners kept him from feeling.

McKay shouted, "Get us out of here!"

Sheppard's eyes and hands shifted with the controlled speed of a pilot and he gave the relatively calm command, "Jumper Two, hold position. Keep the Gate open but do not follow yet."

The swooping view of clouds and trees suggested Sheppard was using some zigzagging evasive maneuver even as he spoke. Then they came to rest in a hover high above the Gate they'd just passed through. A pile of boulders now blocked the base of the ramp in front of it, looking like a collapsed stone arch. Mixed in were long wooden poles or branches that could have been a support structure during construction or part of some railing or platform.

"Reid, report," Sheppard said without looking back.

Spencer leaned forward to see the man's face more easily. "If you're asking why the spirit animals didn't warn us, that was just a hypothesis, but also, it looks like that arch collapsed because we hit it. If we'd come through at a different angle, it might have been safe. Of course, anyone on foot would have seen it and walked around."

"I did not hit the damn arch," Sheppard protested and a slow motion video appeared on part of the front viewport. "There were poles right in front of the ramp."

"Oh." Spencer rapidly recalculated as he saw the thin wooden poles supporting the center of the arch snap and release a pile of loose rock from a wooden scaffolding. "That's a clever trap. People walking through the Gate could pass right between the poles, which aren't so much supports as triggers. The base of the arch and abutments are mortared stone, keeping them stable and ready for reuse. The center completed the arch in wood with a payload of stones on top ready to fall if someone broke the trigger poles. It's like setting up a bucket of water or a pot of hot oil to fall when someone opens a door. Either they thought the jumper would be easier to crush, or it's just an alarm to show an invisible ship flew through."

"McKay?" Sheppard asked.

The Chief Scientist tapped at his tablet and Life Signs Detector while mostly watching changing displays on the Jumper."I don't detect any power sources adequate for a cloning facility, although there is a settlement with minor power signatures a couple miles away. In front of the Gate, we have at least fifty-two life signs and some apparently man made geographical anomalies."

"Meaning?"

"Probably pit traps, possibly something like fox holes or blinds, and some places rigged to drop rocks if we pass through the forest." McKay waved a hand sideways to almost hit Sheppard's shoulder. "Oh, and some lifesigns in the trees suggest archers or others with projectile weapons."

"How long would it take us to blast the rubble from in front of the Gate?" Sheppard asked.

"Not what the Jumper weapons are designed for. We'd risk hurting the Gate from this side, and the angle won't work from the Gate side."

Sheppard shrugged with a nod toward McKay."Transmit a picture and schematics." Then he ordered through the radio, "Change of plans. Lorne, I need a demolition team to take out the obstruction in front of the Gate. Send an extra team for security in case forces currently hidden rush them. Otherwise, they should be able to come through the Gate and lay charges using the rubble as a defense. Send the rest of the Jumpers through as soon as that's clear. Jumper One is going to check a nearby settlement's power sources."

"Understood, sir," was Lorne's reply.

Spencer was impressed by how well hidden the people registering as fifty-two life signs beneath them were. They saw no evidence of even a campsite near the Gate. But when they reached the settlement with the power signature that McKay had targeted, there were people calmly going about their daily lives, hanging out laundry and adding fuel to what was either a kiln or an elaborate outdoor oven. Sturdy windmills turned at each end of the path through town. A dozen apparently permanent buildings clustered together. Each was at least a thousand square feet by Spencer's estimation and probably contained multiple rooms. Trees and gardens surrounded each building and in many cases connected them with covered passageways outdoors that appeared to be made completely of manicured bushes and trees. The whole scene looked rather idyllic and extremely calm.

"I don't like the looks of this," McKay said.

"Of course you don't." Sheppard managed to sound lazy and indulgent despite the circumstances. "What all don't you like this time."

"Every building has a power source—separate from what the windmills generate—enough to power lights and possibly communications equipment, although nothing on the order of laser weapons or energy shields. I'm reading at least thirty-six life signs, but only five are outside. They could be decoys. This looks like a trap."

"Most people could work inside or take an afternoon siesta. I've got an idea," Sheppard reached across and gave McKay a playful shove, "We could wear our TAC vests and carry our weapons, because the locals might be hostile."

McKay rolled his eyes. "That is hardly a plan or a rebuttal. Perhaps you should consult your hair for a second opinion if you won't listen to the resident genius."

"How about I leave the resident genius to monitor from the Jumper? If they attack us, you can blow up all the buildings and plants you don't like the looks of."

"I'm not staying in the Jumper. You need me to analyze the power sources." McKay waved a hand back toward Spencer. "Leave vest boy hidden in the Jumper."

Spencer's dark blue sweater vest was currently hidden beneath his TAC vest, but he didn't expect that to keep anyone from teasing him about his fashion choices. "I've only had two Jumper lessons, and they didn't include weapons."

"You’re a strong gene carrier. If you think about where you want to shoot, the Jumper will be your overeager guard dog, just like it offered you the Life Signs Detector the first time you sat down," McKay answered.

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," Spencer said, "but if I can't hold a steady hover when not using weapons, I don't think you'll want me firing laser beams anywhere near you."

"They are not lasers, closer to electrolasers, but until you catch up on your Ancient physics, I really can't be bothered to explain it to you." McKay was already shutting down his equipment. "Why don't we just park where this amateur can easily blow up buildings without hurting us, and you and Ronon can take care of protecting me from any up close and personal threats."

Spencer didn't like being separated from Ronon but was too professional to question his assignment further.

Sheppard set them down in an area of sparse trees with a good line of sight on the cluster of buildings. "Sit in the pilot chair." He stood and motioned Reid to his chair. "Don't take off or fire unless I give the order or we're all unconscious. I've set you up to stay cloaked and hear everything through our radios. We'll be able to hear you, but maintain radio silence unless you have something urgent." Then Sheppard tilted his head and with an exaggerated glare said, "Don't let anything happen to my Jumper."

Ronon didn't say anything, but the hand he pressed to Spencer's shoulder before he left was warm and reassuring. A scent of flowers and green growing things filled the jumper as the rear hatch opened.

The team took off into trees behind the cloaked jumper and Spencer could only see them as life signs until they emerged near a woman who was hanging out laundry at one end of the settlement.

"Hi there, I'm Colonel Sheppard, and we'd like to talk about what's going on by your Ring of the Ancestors." Sheppard's smile and posture were set to charm. McKay and Ronon stood behind him looking anything but, as McKay fiddled with his tech and Ronon stood hands on hips, one resting on his blaster.

The woman smiled but stood her ground fearlessly. She was half a foot smaller than Sheppard, let alone Ronon, and clad in a combination of woven fabric and leather that seemed to be common in Pegasus. The way she seemed unworried by the appearance of three armed men might mean trouble, but the fact that she was female and not obviously pregnant argued for this settlement being separate from the people they were after. "We rarely use the Ring of the Ancestors and prefer to be left alone, in peace."

Sheppard held up both hands, "We're happy to preserve the peace. But someone set up a stone arch to collapse on us when we came through the Gate, and we'd like to talk to someone about what's going on around here."

The woman smiled again, "We have nothing to tell and could tell you nothing that would help. Please leave now."

McKay had been busy with his gadgets as Sheppard talked. Now he interrupted to say, "Someone here is hiding something. If it's not you, then let us look inside a few buildings."

"To preserve the peace," the woman replied, no longer smiling, "I must ask that you leave. Now."

Two large men stepped out from the nearest doorway and took positions to either side. They both wore black hats with wide brims and coats bulky enough to conceal a multitude of weapons. While the woman's dark hair was worn loose and flowing down her back, neither man displayed any hair at all. Their skin had a grey tinge, in contrast to the woman's reddish tan. The ashen skin and lack of hair made the men look a bit like cancer patients, albeit rather buff ones who were playing at being cowboys.

Spencer was glad they were in line of sight from the Jumper and suspected Sheppard had already targeted the woman hanging laundry and planned their angle of approach when he choose where to position the Jumper. If need be, Spencer could fire on the building where the men stood or any others on his side of the settlement without directly endangering the team.

A glance sideways at the Jumper's life signs display showed no changes for those outside, but people moved around within each of the buildings. Most buildings seemed to have one or two moving to just inside the doors while any others huddled together at some interior location, often near a power source. He whispered into his radio, "Residents are moving to defensive or protected positions in each building. This suggests communication between dwellings."

Ronon shifted back a step, giving himself a better view of an adjacent building's entrance. McKay nodded down at his LSD but closed his eyes in a way that suggested he was using some part of his gift other than vision. Sheppard showed no outward sign of hearing as he spoke to the men outside the nearest doorway. "We'd be really happy to keep the peace if you could just share a little information."

"What in particular?" the woman asked.

Sheppard focused his eyes, if not most of his attention, back on her. "What do you know about a Wraith-human hybrid who might be calling himself New Light?"

"The outcast is not welcome here," the larger man at the door replied.

"And what if he had some secret lab nearby where he was experimenting on people?"

"We would know nothing of that."

McKay shifted so his shoulder bumped Sheppard, and Spencer wondered if that was a signal of some sort. Ronon seemed to be focusing his attention, and possibly his Tracker gift, on other buildings.

"Oookay," Sheppard smiled pleasantly. "You ever heard, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend?'"

"We do not want any enemies, only to be left alone." The man who was now speaking to them crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, well, he seems to be gathering an army, barricading your Ring of the Ancestors, and spreading a disease to encourage people to help him. We'd be happy to send someone to check your population, just to be on the safe side."

"No, we are immune and will not take sides. We are done here," the man said.

"Just one more question," Sheppard said.

The woman he'd originally greeted glared at him.

Spencer leaned slightly forward, a habit of listening, even though it wouldn't help him hear better in this case.

A strong hand closed over his mouth and throat, yanking him backwards and out of the pilot seat. Another hand fastened on his throat, cutting off all air before he could cry for help. Without ever seeing who had grabbed him, his vision faded to black. His last thought was that McKay would never let him live it down, assuming Spencer lived.

#

He awoke to someone shaking him. He stifled his first instinct to cry out. He'd been hidden in a cloaked Jumper. The person shaking him might be the one who'd grabbed him.

"Quit that, what if he has a neck injury or is nauseated?" That voice he recognized as McKay's.

"Works. He's waking." That was Ronon, who could probably hear some change in his heartbeat or breathing.

Spencer tried to open his eyes, but they were crusty and slimy. He didn't feel like he'd been unconscious very long. His bladder was usually a good indicator for that, and wasn't it telling that he knew. Opening his mouth to ask, "How long?" he felt the slimy crust there too.

Suddenly he did feel nauseated. He wrinkled his nose and knew someone's semen had been smeared on his face. "Don't touch me."

"Immunized, remember?" Ronon said. And Spencer did remember, but he still felt too repulsive to be touched.

"We have to go now," Sheppard said from a short distance away.

Spencer felt himself being lifted bridal-style in his lover's arms. It was hard not to want that embrace and the warm chest pressed against him, no matter how repulsive he felt. "Is it Nok's?"

Ronon sniffed and said, "No."

Spencer wasn't sure if Ronon smelled the contaminant or specifically knew what Nok's semen smelled like. It should have seemed better if Nok had done it, since he was no longer spreading the genetic alteration, even if he didn't realize it. Nonetheless, Spencer was glad to avoid that particular violation.

He missed Ronon's touch the moment he was placed in his original seat in the jumper. While his bond mate fastened him in, McKay's voice came from just in front of him asking, "Do you remember anything about who grabbed you?"

"No. It was fast and from behind. How long was I gone?"

"Less than ten minutes from your comment about life signs moving. Probably scared them away when we returned." The Jumper took off as McKay asked, "Do you feel like you were dosed with anything besides the obvious or just strangled until you passed out?"

"Just strangled," Spencer said without sarcasm as Ronon cleaned his face with one of the wipes Carson had given them for just that purpose. Spencer was glad to see he was wearing gloves as they'd been instructed.

As he finished, Ronon passed him an already activated chemical cold pack, and Spencer held it to his neck where he could feel bruising every time he swallowed.

They both leaned forward to watch through the front viewport as Sheppard said, "They're about to blow the barricade and bring more Jumpers through."

Sheppard kept them high up with a good view as they listened to four explosions and watched the rubble scatter outward and break into smaller pieces. Before the dust settled, Spencer could see the outline of a cloaked Jumper passing through the Gate. Evidently others noticed as well.

A rock over a foot in diameter catapulted out of the forest. From the way it changed course as it fell, it clearly hit some part of its target. Sheppard said, "Hold Jumper Three, status Jumper Two?" and moved to just over the patch of forest from which the rock had been shot. He fired the Jumper's weapons on what looked like a well camouflaged trebuchet then took off fast to avoid giving away his Jumper's location as a target.

Over the radio they heard, "Hit to vent on right rear, but nothing to worry about, sir."

"Search the east half of the wooded area for any signs of other siege weapons within range of the Gate. Fire at will. We'll take the west."

After Jumper Two took out another trebuchet and their search turned up nothing more, Sheppard radioed, "Jumper Three, dust has settled enough for you to come through. Make immediate evasive maneuvers upward, just in case."

"Yes, sir."

McKay leaned over and started explaining a plan he'd worked out on his tablet. Sheppard raised an eyebrow and said, "Jumper Four proceed. Jumpers Five and Six, load up on smoke grenades."

Spencer was glad his expertise wasn't particularly needed at the moment. His mind was spinning with what might have happened while he was unconscious. He didn't feel as though his clothing had been disturbed or any parts of his body other than his neck and face had been violated. It had been less than ten minutes. But he couldn't help thinking that only Nok would have sought him out in particular, and the memory of the man rutting against him while pressing him into a tree momentarily filled his senses.

Ronon laid a warm, solid hand on his knee. Spencer couldn't meet his eyes. He kept his gaze forward, watching the Gate area for trouble. He realized that their Jumper's rear ramp had been left open within the cloak while he'd been left in the Jumper as back up. If only he'd thought to raise the ramp, he would have been safe. It wasn't even that he'd assumed Sheppard would close it. With all his concern focused on watching and defending the others, Spencer had forgotten something as basic as closing and locking the door. Still, it seemed bizarre that someone had determined where the Jumper was hidden, probably by watching the others leave, and then waited several minutes and come aboard just to grab Spencer. Maybe they had been listening until then, gathering intelligence. Spencer didn't know if he felt better or worse thinking the attack on him may have been a secondary action.

"What did Sheppard ask when he said he had one more question?" Spencer whispered to Ronon so as not to interrupt the others.

"Nok." Ronon huffed. "They said a human like that came asking questions, asking about private matters between them and their humans, calling them bond mates. Scared him away, or so they said."

"They don't consider themselves humans?"

Ronon looked Spencer over as if assessing his mental state or possibly his ignorance. Then his hand squeezed Spencer's knee. "The men at the door were transformed Wraith. Skin tone and pure white hair, in this case shaved or kept under their hats, usually gives them away. Humans with them were Wraith worshippers who stayed even when the Wraith had no enzyme or life force to give them. May be bond mates. Didn't deny it."

Wondering about the culture and perspective of the transformed Wraith was a good distraction to keep at least part of Spencer's mind off his latest, thankfully brief, abduction. It also let him detach a bit as Sheppard and McKay coordinated the six jumpers to smoke out, stun and capture the fifty-two hidden life signs they'd initially detected around the Gate.

At one point Sheppard said, "Jumper One will take that batch." Next he told Spencer, "Get your zip ties ready. You'll need to secure the prisoners as we load up the Jumper."

Then they were down without a bump. The other three moved just outside the hatch with their stun weapons raised, still hidden by the Jumper's cloak. Spencer wanted to resent being left inside, because his shooting skills were just fine now. But he still felt a little nauseated and decided Sheppard was making the call based on his recent injury as much as anything else. As it was, Spencer couldn't turn his back to the open hatch.

Smoke and a scent like fireworks filled the Jumper. Spencer's throat seemed to seize up around the bruises. He picked up the cold pack he'd left on his seat and tried holding that to his neck, but it only made his throat feel tighter. He saw the others pull handkerchiefs from low pockets on their TAC vests, and he found one of his own to tie around his face. Next he realized his eyes were stinging and watering. He had no way to know if that was a normal reaction to the traces of smoke reaching them or if his eyes were oversensitive from what had happened earlier.

All of a sudden, Ronon fired his blaster. Sheppard fired a smaller stunner just after. Spencer couldn't see but forced himself to hold position.

They must have fired twenty times before Ronon and McKay appeared dragging bodies while Sheppard provided covering fire.

Spencer ignored his own eyes, throat, and lungs as he zip tied wrists and ankles on each unconscious body brought into the back of the Jumper. Ronon dragged his with just his good right arm. McKay used both arms but didn't complain.

When Sheppard started shooting again while the others were out of sight, Spencer couldn't breathe for a moment. What if some of their enemies had gas masks or had hidden downwind? He hadn't heard gunfire. Still, he remembered the downed man who'd tried to knife Ronon through the gut in the last battle. And Ronon was using his one good arm to haul bodies. What if he couldn't defend himself fast enough?

Spencer hurried to just inside the open hatch in time to see Ronon swing a body as a weapon. Like the flick of a very heavy whip, it took down one staggering attacker. Ronon spun and kicked a second. The man keeled over and Ronon stunned them both. He'd never bothered to set down the body he'd been retrieving. Now he carried on toward the Jumper as if nothing had happened. Spencer hurried back to his post.

When the last of eleven bodies from their location were secured on the Jumper floor, Spencer had a chance to sit and get his breathing under control. Ronon sat across from him and placed a warm hand on his knee again. It helped. Spencer remembered Carson's overreaction when they first detected the baby in the cave, and he realized they all had their weak spots.

At the beta site, Sheppard had Marines unload the new prisoners and move them into shelters only partially emptied of their previous occupants. Jumper One became a de facto control center as Sheppard confirmed that 46 combatants had been brought in. Nok and New Light were not among them.

"Take Jumpers Three, Four, and Five back to keep watch and take out any remaining traps or defenses." Sheppard was gesturing as he spoke, but Spencer wasn't tracking the specifics. A growing sense of pressure in his skull had him worried about either contamination or migraine and made it hard to focus. "Keep a watch on the far settlement there also, in case someone approaches for supplies or other purposes. Michael was ready to take out his own people and replace them with new and improved hybrids before, so we might end up having to protect that settlement if New Light or others show up with hostile intent. Keep at least one cloaked Jumper in the air there at all times. Jumper Six will do the same here. Any of our people with even minor injuries or with any chance of contamination will go back in Jumper Two, which needs repairs. My team is going back for decontamination and debrief. Check in with alpha site every half hour for now."

"Yes, sir," was all Spencer heard before Sheppard returned to the pilot seat and took them through to the alpha site. He updated the checkpoint there by radio and dialed the Gate for Atlantis.

As soon as the Gate opened, a new screen appeared just in front of Sheppard on the viewport. Spencer had a good view, since he was sitting diagonally across, behind McKay. He motioned to Ronon, who shifted to look around Sheppard's chair. None of them said anything. Nor did they send their IDC or say anything to those in the Atlantis Gate Room, although Spencer noticed the indicator showing that they were now broadcasting out to Atlantis.

The schematic that had appeared in front of Sheppard showed a highlighted storage cupboard under the bench seats in the back. In the same white font used to label other parts of the diagram, it said: "Emergency rations and supplies." In a blocky, bright blue font it said: "Wraith hybrid detected."

Sheppard and Ronon seemed to condense a conversation into head tilts and eye motions. At the end, Sheppard pointed for McKay to stay up front and watch the monitors. He motioned for Spencer to draw the zat he'd been provided and stay where he was.

By the time Spencer had the weapon in hand, Ronon had drawn his blaster and moved silently to the other side of the storage cupboard. Sheppard took position on the near side and hit the release. "Don't move," he growled at the startled occupant. Ronon caught the hybrid by arms that folded painfully upward behind the captive's back. "If it isn't our old friend, Michael, or should I say New Light?"

"You may call me Future Light." Even with his arms pinned by Ronon and three weapons pointed at him, the hybrid stood up straight and looked almost human despite his veinous complexion and what could have been scabs beside his oddly shaped nose. His brown, very human looking hair also marked him as different from the more recently transformed Wraith.

"How pretentious," Sheppard said harshly.

"It may seem so to you, but Michael was never my name." Future Light's speech was calm and sounded oddly pleasing to Spencer's ears. The pressure in Spencer's head increased, and he noticed how tightly he was clutching the zat in his hand. Carefully, Spencer unlatched his fingers.

Ronon opened his eyes wider in silent question. He'd noticed Spencer disarming himself. Sheppard couldn't see with his back turned to Spencer. The Colonel had left himself open to a shot from behind.

Spencer glanced quickly to see Rodney facing forward, intent on various monitoring screens. Of course, there was no telling how McKay might be using his own gifts, but most likely, he was using science instead. Spencer fixed his eyes back on Ronon and his hostage and tried to focus as well as he could on their emotions. Ronon was in battle mode, giving off little emotion, but Spencer could feel a thread of concern that stretched between them regardless. He held on to that thread wondering if it represented their bond.

Thus grounded, Spencer realized the pressure in his skull was directional. It came from Future Light. With a tilt of his head, Spencer tried to gauge the hybrid's intent. Mostly he felt frustration.

"So you know you're a new copy of a damaged original," Sheppard taunted.

"I am creator, offspring, and the essence of perfection." The clone wanted something, something his predecessors hadn't. Whatever it was, he thought he could acquire it on Atlantis. The pressure in Spencer's head increased. He became aware again of the weapon he was supposed to be holding.

"Father, son, and holy ghost," Sheppard said, "combined with self-worship. Now that's original. If you're so perfected, why are you still pestering humans? And why show up here?"

"Alas, I do not claim to be perfect. Yet. For example, I wonder how I was discovered before we reached Atlantis." Future Light suspected Spencer of giving away his presence even as he believed he could influence Spencer through his gift. Trying to contain his own thoughts, Spencer held tight to his bond with Ronon and tried to interpret the new clone's motives. They were not like Ronon's battle focus. There was a neediness the clone was trying to hide.

"Yeah, like I'm going to tell you anything," Sheppard said. "I'm thinking my best option is to space you."

"Aren't I entitled to a trial, back on Atlantis? After all, you made me to be one of you." An emotional plea aimed verbally at Sheppard and mentally at Spencer.

"As you said, you're not Michael. He died on Atlantis. I saw it. Seems to me you either have the rights of a corpse or you shouldn't exist to begin with." Sheppard widened his stance and waved his weapon.

"Whatever you may believe about me, we agree that I was not the one who died on Atlantis. I know nothing about those events and am blameless." But he wanted to know. He wanted to know Atlantis—to bond with Atlantis. Spencer recoiled wondering if that was even possible. Whatever connection he'd had with the clone snapped.

At the same moment, Future Light pushed up with his feet, bouncing and slamming his head back into Ronon's nose. He kicked out with both feet toward Sheppard.

Almost too fast for Spencer to watch, Sheppard stepped back. Ronon bucked forward. In the moment when Ronon released his captive, he stunned him with his blaster using his injured arm. As the Wraith collapsed, Ronon shook out his good hand. It must have been close enough to take some of the stunning effect. Sheppard pulled zip ties from his vest. "Wonder where he dumped what used to be in that cupboard. That's where we kept the good rope." Without a pause he shouted toward the front, confirming that outgoing communications had been active the whole time, "Woolsey, have someone meet us in the Jumper Bay with full Wraith restraints. In case you didn't catch all that, we're bringing Michael's clone in stunned by Ronon's blaster."

#

They debriefed in the observation area above a medical quarantine room where Future Light was very well secured to a hospital bed. Dr. Biro was scanning and taking samples with a studious intensity that reminded Spencer of many medical examiners, people who worked with corpses rather than alien hybrids. The whole team from Jumper One had passed through decontamination and post mission checks in record time. Carson, Teyla, and Woolsey had joined them on the medical observation level when they refused to let the clone out of their sight.

"He thinks he can bond with Atlantis. I don't know what happens with each iteration of the cloning, but he doesn't have the memories of how his predecessors failed, so he can only guess and blame them." Spencer tried to put into words what had been flash impressions in his mind. He clutched at the yellow and green bracelet on his wrist as he remembered similar impressions assailing him when he met Julio in Miami. "He seemed frustrated and probably wanted me to stun Colonel Sheppard, but he didn't see himself as hostile."

"He's branched off from the last point when each predecessor's mental prints were stored," Carson said with forced calm.

"Saw you let go of the zat," Ronon said. "Seen the same look on Teyla."

Teyla nodded. "The visions Michael used on me were different, but both the original and this version of Michael seem to have unusual projective powers, even for a Wraith."

"He expected it to work better, possibly because he tried to infect me and thought he'd have longer for that to take hold before he was discovered. I think his main goal was to hitch a ride to Atlantis." Spencer glanced at Ronon, not sure how much to say. Ronon nodded for him to continue. "Nok may have told him my gift and my partial bond would make me more susceptible. Instead, I was able to hold onto my bond with Ronon as I tried to read Future Light's intentions."

"What?" McKay reacted first. "Not that we've made a scientific study of any of this yet, but you never mentioned that ability before. You seemed surprised when Phillips picked up a flash of something while touching you. Now you're saying you can read a cloned hybrid's mind from across a Jumper?"

"I wasn't reading his mind, just picking up motivations and images while he tried to push his way into my thought. Maybe they're hallucinations. I don't know." Spencer was at once mortified and proud of himself for being able to admit such a possibility. Ronon shifted closer, a warm shoulder touching Spencer's back.

"When a Wraith Queen connected to my mind," Teyla said, "I was able to collect information I could not have with my own gift under ordinary circumstances."

"And didn't that turn out well," Sheppard drawled.

"Now we live in a galaxy where Wraith no longer feed on humans." Teyla smiled in the motherly way Spencer had learned was dangerous from JJ. "My point is that Spencer may have achieved the sort of mental access that Future Light had hoped to use against him, or against others who might be susceptible to his influence." She met Carson's eyes with the last words, and Spencer remembered from reports how Michael claimed Carson, as a clone, could not kill him because he was susceptible to influence like all of Michael's creations.

"Know your enemy," Woolsey said. "Perhaps we should temporarily remove or contain anyone with these so called 'gifts' as well as Dr. Beckett."

"It's not everyone with gifts," McKay sputtered, "just the touchy feely types and the partially bonded."

Sheppard said somewhat tensely, "I'm not sure we understand enough to know, but on the Jumper, he only went after Reid."

"There are probably others working on Atlantis who have gifts that make them more susceptible as well. We'd never be able to identify them all, and he might be able to put out a general call. However, he didn't manage to control me on the Jumper, and I have a better idea of how to handle him now." Spencer could tell Woolsey was ready to object, so he kept right on talking. "We can turn this into leverage to find the location of the cloning facility and any other forces he's infected. Friendly interrogation relies on being perceived as sympathetic and on knowing information the person being questioned doesn't expect you to have. Put me in alone with Future Light, and I'll negotiate the location of the cloning facility in exchange for letting him try to bond with Atlantis."

Ronon tensed. Spencer felt a fierce surge of protectiveness and adamant refusal, but not a word out loud.

"No," Colonel Sheppard said. To Spencer, the man had never seemed more like a military commander than he did in that moment. His tone was absolute.

"Which part are you concerned about?" Spencer asked, picking up strong waves of fear now that he was focused on Sheppard. "I'm fine with being stunned if there's a problem. You can set up as many layers of security around us as you want. We can clear the room of anything you think might be able to hurt me, him, or Atlantis." Sheppard's fear spiked at the idea of harming Atlantis. "Are you afraid he could hurt the city by trying to bond with it?"

Sheppard made no effort to answer. He just glared at Spencer and pressed a hand to the wall. It wasn't at all what the analyst had come to expect of the laid back military man.

McKay was unusually still and silent as well. His eyes kept flicking to Sheppard and then back.

It was Carson who eventually broke the silence. "How about if you," he motioned at Spencer while speaking softly, "Sheppard and I discuss ways we might make this work safely, then we'll report back to everyone else."

Woolsey's sour face showed how little he liked the compromise. "I'm not agreeing to even try this until I see the plan."

"Understood," Carson said. "I'm pretty sure Sheppard is with you on that."

"No offense, Dr. Beckett," Woolsey said in a gentler tone, "but how do we know the hybrid isn't affecting you and Dr. Reid now?"

"He's deeply sedated and the monitors on his brain will set off alarms if they detect any additional activity," Carson said. When Woolsey still looked concerned, the doctor added, "Biro set up the systems. She shows no sign of gifts, is not a clone, is immunized against the viral carrier, and is not even ATA positive. Please, give us a chance to work this out."

Woolsey nodded reluctantly and left the room. Ronon and Teyla made no move to follow before the door closed. McKay didn't even look up from his tablet before saying, "Communications secure."

"John," Carson said, in the soft tones he'd used to comfort McKay in the field, "You really should be the one to tell this."

The Colonel shook his head once.

Carson took a deep breath. "Do you actively consent to me telling them?"

Sheppard nodded, still military stiff. Spencer guessed the military mask was all the man had left at the moment. He was emitting so much fear that Spencer pressed back into Ronon's shoulder to block it out. His lover still gave every sign both physically and through Spencer's gift that he did not like whatever plan might put Spencer in danger, but the bond between them grounded Spencer just the same.

"Fine." Carson rubbed at the bridge of his nose and sniffed. "You've all probably made certain assumptions about John being bonded to both Rodney and myself." Shallow nods met the doctor's fairly innocuous statement. "As far as I can tell, he needed that sort of bond to stabilize his primary bond to Atlantis."

Spencer had not seen that one coming. It was like the moment in an investigation where new information turned an unsub's profile upside down. In the Jumper, Spencer had thought the clone's idea of bonding with the city was ludicrous but also repugnant. He found nothing about John's bond to the city disturbing. Now he wondered if on some level he had so disliked the idea from Future Light because he knew that part of the city, the part that made him feel safe and welcomed, was securely bonded to someone else. He saw Sheppard's hand pressed to the wall and images flashed in his mind's eyes of Sheppard stroking the Jumper or wrapping an arm around an Ancient console. The idea of Sheppard being Atlantis' bond mate, as well as Carson and McKay's, felt right. Maybe it was a different sort of relationship than most bond mates had. He still thought Sheppard was possibly asexual, which might seem an advantage for bonding with a city, but Spencer had also seen how he basked in touch from McKay and was occasionally comforted and grounded by Carson. If all involved were happy with the arrangement and got what they needed, Spencer was all for it, whatever it was Sheppard insisted they only do in private.

Then Spencer realized how badly he'd misstepped. "Is it bad that we brought him here? I didn't want to give away what I'd seen in Future Light's mind until I was sure he wouldn't overhear, but he's effectively inside your bond mate, or one of your bond mates." Spencer's mind tangled with possibilities as he tried to read Sheppard's status and failed. "Do we need to take Future Light elsewhere before we can wake him up for questioning?"

At that, Sheppard seemed to snap out of whatever fugue he'd fallen into. "No, my _bond mate_ is very inclusive like that." He smirked and Spencer recognized the offbeat military mask, a little more real than the military stiffness of a moment before. "This might not be a problem at all. But she's the one to ask about how to play it out." He glanced at McKay. "I'll need to use the control chair. You can all come."

#

By the time Future Light woke, they'd transferred him to a holding cell in the brig. The wide vertical supports and narrower horizontal bars looked deceptively basic, until someone touched them and activated the energy field. Future Light seemed to recognize the technology and did not test it. Instead, Spencer felt the pressure in his skull before Future Light's eyes even opened.

"We have a connection, don't we?" Spencer said, opening a laptop that McKay, with the help of Atlantis via Sheppard in the control chair, had prepared.

"You came for me," Future Light answered, sitting up.

"I bribed Biro to let me in so I could show you this. When you said you weren't the one who died here, I could feel your longing—for knowledge, for Atlantis, for me." Spencer glanced up but lowered his eyes quickly. Hopefully his reticence would pass as shy or subservient. "I brought you the video of what happened before. Michael took over the control room and tried something with Atlantis. Watch."

McKay and Atlantis had provided security footage without any audio. They had carefully edited video clips to make it seem Michael was focused more on Atlantis and the Ancient consoles than on Teyla and her son. Given how much time he'd spent brooding in the control room, it was easy to see some of Michael's actions as attempting to commune with Atlantis.

Future Light stared greedily at the screen as he said, "You offer this, but you did nothing to help me before."

"I kept you from being alone, kept you grounded." Spencer put what he'd learned about persuasion and method acting into meaning what he said as much as he could. There was no telling how combining their gifts might work. "That's what you offered me, wasn't it? I was unsteady at first, but I was beginning to understand. Tell me what you need now. How can I help?"

Future Light was watching the video intently as Michael activated the self-destruct. Spencer set the laptop on the ground and waited on his knees beside it, adopting a pose of humility and servitude. He wanted Future Light kept busy with the video feed and to believe what Spencer was offering.

"I do not believe he truly meant to destroy Atlantis." The hybrid's concern for the city wrapped around his neediness from before.

"No, I believe it was a threat to the people here, a play to gain control. You wouldn't hurt Atlantis, would you?" The emotional response wasn't as simple as Spencer had hoped.

The clone widened his stance and focused his authority and his gift on Spencer. "Why did he fail?"

"He fought Sheppard and Teyla after releasing control of the city. He was outside the city walls and fell to his death." Spencer's skull was pounding, and he gestured to the screen, hoping for relief from the direct attention. Either someone outside manipulated the video timing or he was luckier than he had any right to be. The screen showed Michael's fall as it was only partially captured by a control room camera. As the hybrid's emotions surged with the viewing, Spencer took a deep, calming breath.

"My earlier incarnation was drawn to Atlantis, but could only progress so far." As the video switched to an earlier view from another camera, the clone focused his gaze through the bars on Spencer's upturned face. "I would keep you from being alone, but your mind is cloudy to me."

"I'm a genius. My mind can be a difficult place. Are you rejecting me?" It wasn't hard for Spencer to channel the needed emotion to back those words. This part of his act ran far too close to truth.

"No, no," the hybrid answered softly and the pressure in Spencer's mind became more like a thread Spencer could follow back to the source. "But we may need help beyond ourselves."

"Who?" Spencer focused on implied insecurity as he glanced at the video. "You're not still seeking Teyla, are you?"

The flashes of Atlantis and Ancient crystals in his mind reassured Spencer that he was on the right track. "I know now that my destiny is not to bond with only one other. You feel Atlantis around us?"

"Yes, of course. You feel it too." Spencer held appreciation for his new and welcoming home at the front of his mind.

"You and I must find a way to connect more fully with Atlantis. My predecessor may have established a partial bond, but it was not enough."

Spencer forced his mind to summon certain reports he'd read and focus exclusively on one option. "I know a way. There are virtual reality training devices that McKay and Sheppard used to connect with a crystalline intelligence once before. We could use them to connect ourselves to Atlantis. But how would we gain access to them?"

"You are a genius and you know the people of this place. Surely you can find a way to help me as well as yourself." Spencer felt the pressure in his head try to pull on his thoughts, but he was well practiced at running his mouth to divert attention. He fixed his eyes on the laptop screen as well, knowing from his studies of psychology that even young children instinctively focused their visual attention where someone they were with was looking.

"Perhaps I could convince Dr. Biro that the virtual reality devices would let her see where you hid your cloning facilities. She is desperate to know how you clone yourself and upload your thoughts and memories. If she thought the pods could give her access to the name of the planet"—Spencer intentionally slowed his words as he focused on each detail, capturing through the mental link what flashes he could in his eidetic memory—"the Gate address"—Six lit symbols on a dialing device settled firmly in his memory—"images of the path you take to reach your clones, codes, security measures to get inside, what you do first to start the system up, and which parts are essential to create a true clone with your body and mind…She'd probably want to ask where any of the new race you're creating are, how many are at the cloning facility, other planets and Gate addresses where they could be found"—He caught one more image of a lit address symbols, but there was so much more that he could only hope Atlantis was picking up and recording—"images of where they hide and the path you follow to reach them." Spencer had kept his tone level, trying for the almost hypnotic effect he'd practiced for cognitive interviews. Now he realized how he'd always tapped into his gift unknowingly during those, but there was much more to it, harnessing his own empathy and the path the hybrid had offered using Wraith telepathy. Still, Spencer didn't know if he'd succeeded well enough yet.

"If Dr. Biro has access to such devices, why hasn't she placed me in one already?"

"I wasn't here before, when McKay and Sheppard used them. I'm not at all sure what I'm proposing would work for Biro's purposes, and she may not have thought of it. But I could try to convince her that my gift along with the pods' technology would be enough to show a Gate address for the cloning facility… to show us where it is hidden." Spencer memorized another sudden image of a door hidden in rock with a three finger trigger lock. "And of course, no one will realize that you're here to bond with Atlantis. Once you reestablish whatever bond Michael may have started, why would the technology work for Biro at all?"

Spencer felt a surge of pride as if it were his own. "Yes, I will bond with the eternal entity known as Atlantis and become perfected. Our bond will last forever, beyond even the lifespan of a Wraith. If Atlantis does not already possess the technology to preserve and transfer a mental print, then we will build together on my cloning technology. Your genius will be linked to ours and the difficulties attached to your current biology will be overcome."

Spencer couldn't take it anymore. Since the surge of pride broke through, he was feeling too much from Future Light and a wave of nausea rose in response, even greater than what he'd experienced in the Jumper earlier. He stood with his usual ill grace and hurried for the door. "I must go. I'll set things up with Biro."

In that moment, Future Light's attention focused fully on Spencer. "What is this? Stay! I must see your cloudy thoughts more clearly."

"No more time," Spencer gasped as he pushed through the door.

As he hurried out and away, Spencer let the nausea fill his mind to obscure any other thoughts. He managed to snap the connection with the clone, but it was harder this time. Even as he tried not to think, his emotions reached out to his true bond mate, tracing the strained thread that connected them. What he sensed replaced his nausea with fear. Ronon was furious and their bond was wavering. Spencer barely even noticed the security team sent to escort him as he hurried to the control chair.

When Spencer reached the chair room, he pounded on the doors until McKay let him in. He threw himself at Ronon. Strong arms wrapped around him even as his lover said, "You shouldn't have done that."

"I didn't know. Can we fix it?"

Ronon shrugged and held him tighter. "Are you always so reckless?"

"What happened?" McKay asked without looking up from his console.

"Pushed our bond away," Ronon said through gritted teeth. The anger burned Spencer like acid on his skin, but there was no chance he would pull away from Ronon now.

"I don't think he ever saw our bond. He got into my mind too much at the end, and I'm sorry for that, but I know how it happened. What I learned can help us." Spencer tried to reach out to Ronon along their bond, the connection he felt like a string he could hold onto. Now it vibrated with Ronon's anger and hurt. Spencer had felt the pressure of Future Light's emotions, the pride he shared almost on accident, press into his mind—spirit?—so deeply that it threatened his new bond to Ronon. From what Bantulan and Nok had told them, he'd thought their bond was safe, complete, consummated, but he should have remembered what Julio had told him and listened with his heart. His connection with Ronon had grown step by step—when they touched, when they kissed, when they claimed each other with words, when they shared that intention with others, and when they finally made love. Just as Ronon's people taught that the individual should change and grow in stages, their bond had been changing and growing each step of the way. It might be strong enough now to withstand separation, but that didn't mean it was invulnerable. "There isn't a set of rules or a ritual that makes our bond complete. It's stronger today than it was yesterday, strong enough for what I had to do to fool Future Light. I'm sorry if I strained it, if it hurt. But I won't let it go. And we can keep making it stronger."

He wanted to reassure Ronon more but they didn't have the time. "Did it work at least? Did the information come through?"

Ronon growled softly, a vibration transmitted through their bones.

All Spencer could see was Sheppard lying completely still in the ornate metal control chair that glowed around him with soothing blue light. He gave no sign of hearing let alone answering.

"We don't know," McKay answered. "It seemed to be working at first, then Sheppard went silent and Atlantis stopped sending me data."

"Is he hurt? Did you only get images? Could he pick up the name of the planet with the cloning device?" Spencer turned in Ronon's arms so he could see around the room.

Now it was Carson's turn to say, "We don't know." The doctor was holding a monitoring device over Sheppard's chest but seemed hesitant to touch him in the chair. "Now that you're back where Atlantis said we'd be shielded, maybe you can use your gift. Try to connect with him and Atlantis."

Ronon grunted, holding Spencer tighter.

"I don't think that's a good idea right now." Spencer turned to face Carson, and Ronon kept his arms wrapped around from behind. "Something happened to our bond, at the end of the interrogation. I don't know what it did to Ronon and his senses. For me, I almost threw up."

"Something happened to John too. Not worth any of it if we don't get answers," McKay muttered.

"I can't go through with plan B to use the pods with Future Light. He'd see through my deception and worse." Spencer didn't know what would happen to his bond with Ronon if he tried to hide it and let Future Light push into his mind again. "I saw some of what flashed though his mind during questioning: Gate addresses and a hidden door. I can draw them." Spencer was digging in his shoulder bag for paper when the lights in the chair room started to flash.

Then the blue light of the control chair itself grew brighter and Sheppard's hands turned upward on the gel filled sensor pads at the ends of the armrests.

After everyone stood silent for several seconds, Teyla spoke from the corner of the room. She was huddled there with her family, and Spencer hadn't seen them. "I believe you are meant to take his hands."

Spencer's usual discomfort with touch kicked in, and he knew at a gut level that Sheppard shared it. But this instance didn't turn his stomach or make his head ache. He was picking up something else, an insistence channeled through Sheppard and Atlantis.

"You're sure Future Light can't affect any of us in here?" Spencer might be able to trust Sheppard and Atlantis, but he didn't like the idea of intruding on their bond. He didn't understand what it meant, but he felt the danger.

"Atlantis' specs strongly imply it, assuming the word Carson translates as 'gifts' includes what Future Light does." McKay was staring at Sheppard's upturned hands with equal parts longing and foreboding. He was now hovering by the Colonel's left shoulder as Carson stood with his medical equipment on the right. "You don't feel like Future Light is affecting you anymore, do you?"

Spencer closed his eyes for a moment. The mix of emotions in him wasn't pleasant, but it all came from people in the chair room. And he felt Atlantis connected to Sheppard, whose hands were open. "I think Atlantis is encouraging this," Spencer said, mostly to reassure his bond mate, but also Sheppard's, as he tried to step closer.

Ronon let out a huff and allowed Spencer to move forward, but the analyst didn't miss how the larger man followed like a shadow behind him. Spencer knew he was straining not just a bond he barely understood but a tenuous new relationship, a relationship he couldn't stand to lose. Still, he had a job to do. This was currently the only option they had, and it felt right to his gift or his heart or whatever.

Ronon kept his good right hand on his blaster with a clear line of fire around him. Spencer didn't know what the Tracker expected to see, but he clearly wasn't ruling out the need to stun any of them. When Spencer stopped just in front of the control chair, Ronon kept that line of fire open and braced his left hand on Spencer's waist, ready to pull him away, no matter how such a move might further damage Ronon's shoulder.

Spencer reached both hands forward and laid them carefully on Sheppard's. A warm tingle seemed to map from his hands through his nervous system, but Spencer didn't feel his bond was threatened anymore. Like the moment he first entered Atlantis, there was a promise of belonging. He wondered if Future Light had felt it, too.

With that thought, the entire cascade of images from the clone, more than Spencer had thought he perceived or remembered, replayed in his mind. In just seconds, the warm connection released him. Part of him wanted to hold on, to cling to Atlantis'—John's—Sheppard's—hands. But it was too intimate, too much to allow for another second.

He stepped back into Ronon's chest and felt his bond mate shift his right hand away from the blaster to wrap both arms around Spencer again. That felt right. Ronon still broadcast anger and unease, but the thread that connected them felt as strong and unwavering as it had been before the incident with Future Light.

"A huge download of images coming through," McKay said in awe, staring at the tablet in his hands.

The chair powered down. Carson started to run scans on Sheppard, but the hands that had been turned up for Spencer quickly grabbed Carson and pulled him in. The doctor ended up half sitting across Sheppard's lap. One of the doctor's hands still tapped at the medical scanner as the other found its way to Sheppard's neck and wound fingers up into his hair. McKay reached a hand out blindly from the other side, managing to clasp the crook of Sheppard's neck without once looking up from the images flickering across his tablet.

"No one with the ATA or any gift is going near that cloning facility." Sheppard ordered in a clear voice even as he let Carson and McKay touch him. "Cadman, Biro, and Zelenka should be safe to handle the operation with two squads of Marines and a demolition team. I'll put Lorne in charge of the other address with Humans A-Y. We're all taking twelve hours with our…"

"Bond mates," Carson put in easily.

Sheppard nodded. "Unless there's an emergency."

"Let me arrange food to bring to each of our quarters," Teyla said.

"Bring ours here, Teyla. And I'm going to keep an escort with you and in front of quarters until Future Light is dealt with." Sheppard met her eyes with a solemn respect he seldom showed. "You understand?"

Teyla nodded.

Sheppard, McKay and Carson all made radio calls.

Ronon and Spencer left together, clasping hands, and made no pretence in front of the security assigned to escort them to Ronon's room.

#

When Teyla brought a tray to the door only a few minutes later, Spencer saw his security escort covering each end of the hall while Teyla's filled in closer behind her.

She raised an eyebrow as she handed them a covered tray. "A woman name Shivonne chased me down and said she'd heard about your throat injury and saved you something called 'bouillabaisse'? I believe it is a soup. She also wanted you to know that twenty people showed up to cook with her and they wished you and Ronon could have been there." Teyla conveyed the message meticulously, as if it might be some form of code.

"I hadn't realized what night it was," Spencer said quickly. When Teyla waited quietly he added, "We started a dinner group where people teach others to cook foods from their family or culture. It's not unlike what you and Namar are organizing to build understanding between different groups of people."

Teyla smiled her diplomatic smile. "Sharing food traditions is a time honored way to build community. I have included an offering of my own to go with the soup. I hope you and Ronon appreciate it." Teyla passed him the tray.

"I'm sure we will. Thank you, Teyla."

Ronon grunted from behind him.

Teyla walked away with her guards. It was a little creepy, but Spencer let the door close and convinced himself that being under guard right now was for the best.

There was no table in Ronon's room, but the Satedan settled with easy grace onto the floor despite his injuries. Spencer went to sit across from him, setting the tray between them much less gracefully.

"Come closer," Ronon said.

Spencer slid around the tray so they were knee to knee as Ronon removed the cloth and metal covers from the food. The analyst wasn't sure what to expect. He'd only tried bouillabaisse once before at a very eclectic diner that made no pretense of respecting anyone's traditions. The broth was already divided between two bowls. There was bread, rouille, and a plate of something like potatoes covered with brightly colored seafood, much of it including shells. At the back of the tray was a dark, woven wreath of bread that Spencer guessed must be what Teyla added.

"Is this an Earth fish?" Ronon waved something shrimp-like by its tail.

Spencer thought he should be able to answer that. "It looks like a shrimp, but I don't think they've opened the wormhole for more than data since I arrived, so either that was frozen or it's something similar they found locally."

Ronon broke the shell open and ate the contents in one bite. Then he picked up a green and orange claw that looked like a substitute for lobster. It was definitely not from Earth. Ronon pulled that apart with practiced ease. "This comes from Regla. They say it's a delicacy. I think that's because it pinches their toes if they don't convince people to catch it and eat it."

"At least you know how to remove the shells." Spencer smiled as Ronon set about de-shelling other pieces and leaving some of the contents for Spencer to eat with the potatoes underneath. "I've never been to Marseille, or even France, but from what I've read, the fish served with bouillabaisse were traditionally the difficult or unpleasant ones that the fishermen had left over after market. I believe the spread here is called rouille, and we're supposed to spread it on these small pieces of bread and then soak them in the broth that was made from all those fish."

Spencer suited action to words and was fairly happy with the results. Then he tried a spoonful of just the broth with traces of rouille from his first attempt. It was better than any soup he'd ever had. He recognized garlic and saffron, but he had to believe Shivonne had the palate to adapt her spices to compliment the alien fish she'd been given, because no recipe could weave around unknown tastes so well.

"Teyla's bread looks better," Ronon said as he spread rouille on the bread that came with the bouillabaisse.

"I think the broth is delicious, but Teyla's contribution is gorgeous." Spencer admired the shiny braided breadstick made round like a wreath. "I wonder if I'll find something like that with my baked good of the week subscription."

Ronon's eyes went wide as if he might laugh, but he only asked, "What is a baked good of the week subscription?"

Spencer ducked his head. "I'm not sure what they call it here, but I traded a purple scarf to an Athosian baker who explained to me about certain breads or sweets the Athosians find auspicious for particular days or seasons on their calendar. He implied he'd save me one of each special he made until he reached what he thought the scarf was worth."

Ronon was nodding by the end. "You pledge patronage to the baker. A good choice, but not what this bread means."

"Oh, you know what it means?" Spencer felt his knees bounce and his energy rise. He liked to understand the meaning behind his food.

"Among the Athosians, this bread is given when two people form a commitment to each other."

"Like bonding or marriage?" Spencer asked.

"Either, or more casual, but something shared and lasting. The bread is interwoven and has no end."

"On Earth, the Ancient Greeks used wreaths in many ways. At funerals they were used to symbolize eternal life." Spencer looked again at the bread. "Is there a certain way we're supposed to eat it? Do we just thank Teyla for it later? I've never been very good at these social things."

"Your work is all about people. Why insult your social skills?"

"Profiling means constructing an unknown psychology based on an outside view of multiple complex factors and associations. Everyday social skills involve a known group of people who share at least some cultural and psychological assumptions, if not with me, then with each other. Being dissimilar and less known has an adverse effect on the development of social skills. However, being forced into the role of outsider combined with a high academic intelligence and intrapersonal intelligence, not to mention an eidetic memory, has been useful to my development as a profiler."

"So you never fit in and instead used your wits to figure out the people around you? You think that's a disadvantage?" Ronon finished up his bouillabaisse as Spencer decided how much to say.

Spencer had already finished his soup and pushed the bowl away from him. He curled in on himself even as he forced himself to be brave and honest. "I could feel your anger earlier. I didn't see it coming, and I didn't know how to fix it. I thought I might lose you, but I went ahead with my job and the risk Atlantis and the others needed me to take. I suspect that wouldn't score well for social skills."

Ronon bumped their knees together. "No one's qualified to score you. If I left, I'd be the stupid one. The anger, that's my problem. I will never turn it on you. If I go away to cool off, I promise I'll come back."

Ronon's expression softened as he tore a piece off the bread wreath. He stretched his arm to hold it just in front of Spencer's lips. Spencer smiled as he leaned in the last inch to take the bread in his mouth. Then he tore off a similar piece for Ronon and held it out. Ronon leaned forward more than he needed to and sucked on Spencer's fingers as he took the bite.                                                                                            

"Would it change your opinion of my social skills," Spencer asked, "if I admit that even with my gift, I don't know why you were mad at me earlier?"

"Like the way you just ask." Ronon fed him another bite of Athosian bread.

As Spencer returned the favor he said, "You know, by the time I began to recognize my own sexuality, I recognized another drive in myself that was oftentimes stronger. I needed to understand, to acknowledge, and to be true to myself. I wanted to be authentically myself and couldn't stand being close to others who lied to me or to themselves. JJ and Emily couldn't understand why their deception hurt me so deeply. It hurt even more that they couldn't accept how I felt, couldn't see who I was after all that time."

"You question everything like a Satedan. We questioned Wraith control. Questioned roles of each person. Didn't expect so much sameness of social skills."

"You didn't answer my question: what made you mad before?"

"Used to risking life in battle." Ronon picked up another piece of bread, but then spoke more before feeding it to Spencer. "You throw your life and our bond around like you don't care. I know you care greatly. But very differently from me."

"You felt our bond was at risk while I was away?"

"Felt it disappearing," Ronon said, rolling the bit of bread to crumbs in his hand.

Spencer hissed in a breath. "I didn't mean to risk it. I didn't know until it was weakening, but I had to do my job."

"I know. And after killing the first clone that looked like Michael I feared you'd reject me for what I do. Neither of us expects to be fully understood, which makes the effort toward understanding even sweeter." He pinched off a new piece of bread and popped it into Spencer's mouth.

Spencer smiled and finished chewing before he said, "A poet, e. e. cummings, once said, 'To be nobody-but-yourself—in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else—means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.'"

Ronon shifted back as if struck. Spencer was hurt for a moment. Then he felt where Ronon's knee pressed even harder into his own and realized Ronon was projecting something like awe. That let Spencer wait quietly until Ronon said, "You say your people are unaware of gifts, but it sounds like that poet might share yours."

Spencer thought through the whole poem from a new perspective. When he reached the part about loving someone with a "nobody-but-yourself heart," he thought it could be a description of bonding, whether cummings had a gift such as his or solely the poetic gift to shape words that held true across time and experience. "I was always drawn to that poem."

"Do you remember the third poem in the book I showed you?" Ronan sat up taller and recited in Satedan words that roughly translated to: "I can never know/possess/understand the world around my home. I can never know/possess/understand the thoughts/feelings behind your life…" Spencer mouthed the words along with him, not speaking aloud, as his eidetic memory let him picture each perfectly but he had no such ability when it came to pronunciation. It was the first time he'd heard the poem spoken. It was beautiful, and Spencer realized there was a pattern of assonance in some lines that also played on the words' meanings. As Ronon finished, Spencer overlaid his new insights on his first reading of the poem and what they'd been discussing immediately before. The Satedan poem did not seem to be by someone with a particular gift for empathy, although the longing for deeper understanding and authenticity was there. While cummings' poem could be taken as advice to someone much younger, the poem Ronon offered sounded like a declaration by someone younger, someone eager to explore and willing to push hard to do it.

"That poet sounds like you," Spencer finally said.

Ronon wiped his hands and pulled the slim leather book from his bedside drawer along with a thinner leather fold that fit precisely over the cover. He handed both to Spencer. Most of the words carved into the leather book jacket were unknown within Spencer's limited grasp of Satedan, but his eyes zeroed in on the third line. He knew the symbols well for "Ronon Dex."

"What does this mean? Why is this part kept separate?" He touched the name he knew on the thinner leather.

Ronon drew his hand across his chest in a gesture Spencer now understood was meant to downplay the seriousness of a statement or injury. "To keep the first experience of the poems from being clouded by assumptions about the authors, it was traditional on Sateda to keep the outer cover, with authors' names and any additional information, separate. That poem was my first published work, as a student."

"You are so brilliant." Spencer carefully stretched to set the book safely back beside the bed. Then he took Ronon's face in his hands and kissed him, soft and deep. For a long time their tongues explored. Then Ronon's breathing became quicker and his tongue started to roll and nudge against Spencer's. Spencer wrapped his arms around Ronon's neck, and Ronon's good arm pulled the slighter man half into his lap. Ronon's growing erection dug into his hip, and both of them became sloppier with the kiss as they started trying to unfasten clothing without letting go.

Both radios blasted as one, and their tangled bodies half fell into the remains of their seafood and bread. "Sheppard to Teyla, Ronon, and Reid. Prisoner lose and heading for the VR device. Meet me there."

They both stood quickly, brushing food off their clothes, tucking in, tying, and buttoning as they hurried into the hall. Their security escort joined them in a race to the virtual reality training devices.

It seemed impossible to Spencer that the hybrid could have escaped from the holding cell. Sheppard had posted redundant human checkpoints, people without ATA or gifts, and Rodney and Zelenka had both checked through the technology involved. They'd initially constructed a plan B, for Spencer to stage a break out if pretending to humor Biro hadn't appealed to the clone and they'd needed a different excuse to try the VR devices. But that plan required an outside actor. There was no way Future Light could have escaped on his own. Everyone who might be susceptible due to ATA or gifts, at least as far as they knew, had either been assigned security or sent off-world. All Spencer could imagine was that the clone had been able to influence someone unknown into taking out their own security and the guards at all the checkpoints. If that was the case, Spencer hoped no one was dead.

Ronon probably could have left them all behind, but he slowed to look around each corner. He watched both Spencer and their security escort as if he was the acting team leader. Spencer realized that was pretty close to the truth. It made the threat within Atlantis far too real.

A spike of fear hit Spencer as he worried that his fake plan, with the virtual reality training devices, might be too close to the real use Sheppard had made of the control chair. If Future Light was able to influence someone else with gifts similar to Spencer's, what if they really could disrupt Sheppard's bond to Atlantis or cause other trouble?

Ronon motioned them all to a stop as they reached the final room. McKay was shouting, "This will never work. Whatever you did to hack Atlantis, it's over."

"Wouldn't you like to believe you're that smart?" The hybrid's calm voice was chilling in contrast to McKay's.

From his position behind Ronon, Spencer could just see Future Light attaching a black wire to his forehead. To his left sat an open laptop, possibly the one Spencer had left outside the cell.

As Ronon was about to jump into the room with blaster firing, Sheppard opened a flat palm toward the door. Ronon's silent, frozen response only blared of frustration in Spencer's mind.

That was when Spencer realized Sheppard's other hand was flat on top of an Ancient console. He'd seen enough of that body language to guess what it meant, now that he knew about Sheppard's bond with Atlantis. As Future Light tapped a final key on the laptop and his face went blank, Spencer dared to hope.

"Come on in," Sheppard said. "Don't shoot anything. Mehra, Cantu, cover the hall. Keep everyone else well away." The guards from their room took positions on either side of the door.

Now Spencer could see the nested devices on the other side of Future Light. The black wires attached to the clone came together in a blue conduit that led into a hexagonal prism. Inside the prism, which looked like a terrarium, sat a bundle of crystals with stubbly black tentacles attached by wires to the other end of the blue conduit. That whole device sat inside a large cubic medical monitor, which Spencer knew he'd intended to claim would allow the clone to bond with Atlantis while actually arranging it so Atlantis could monitor and record useful information. Both devices were humming away, and Spencer wondered if they'd found a work around without him in the loop. If they'd thought he could be compromised—well, he'd told them himself that he couldn't manage plan B.

For long moments they all watched Future Light's almost human figure sitting completely frozen, as if in a trance. It should have been boring. It was terrifying.

Then they saw the clone's muscles tense and then relax. He slumped forward. The devices attached to him powered down.

Ronon had his blaster pointed at the hybrid without seeming to move. Then he said, "I think he's dead."

McKay nodded as if talking to his tablet. "No pulse, no brain activity. Good call, caveman."

"McKay?" Sheppard's voice had a rising tone at the end.

"Future Light's mental print was uploaded into a crystal partly using his own cloning techniques as adapted to the virtual reality training device. Atlantis collected necessary information during the process." As McKay continued without a breath, Spencer recognized the beginning of a ramble meant to override all interruption. "Once the system feedback convinced him that he could neither bond with Atlantis nor destroy her, he started looking for ways to destroy Colonel Sheppard. At that point, he was referred to Atlantis' ethical programming, and his mental representation of himself decided he should not ever be returned to a physical existence. He designed his own virtual reality, or virtual prison, probably full of a hybrid species he can fully control and bond with to his heart's content. Happy ending all around."

Spencer's relief ran up against sadness and remorse. He couldn't think of a more sympathetic jury than one's own mental representation, and he had trouble believing anything else short of death would have kept Future Light from threatening Atlantis or Pegasus in the future. The sentence was merciful, but for all intents and purposes, a life had been permanently ended without due process. Along the way, they'd probably learned how to prevent any future Michael clones, which seemed simultaneously practical and horrible. Ronon stepped close enough to warm Spencer through their clothes, but he still had his blaster drawn.

"You're sure he can't get out?" was all Sheppard asked.

McKay opened the hexagonal prism and used large tweezers to remove a relatively small crystal. "There is no interface for input or output. His virtual reality will run for as long as the power inherent to the crystal lasts. We could throw it into space, but I'm thinking I'll let the material scientists embed this in something that would shatter the crystal structure if anyone ever tried to pry it out."

Sheppard looked like he wanted to smash the delicate crystal under his boot instead. "Maybe you could let Teyla help with that. She's probably entitled after all the trouble his incarnations have caused her family."

Rodney nodded, "Fine, but you're restarting our twelve hours off after I set that up." He waved a hand toward Spencer and Ronon. "These two look like they'd just gotten to the stage of rolling around in their food. And I hadn't even finished eating mine. Carson better not have stolen my dessert." Rodney had his back turned and was halfway to the lab door by the time he mentioned dessert.

Sheppard shook his head and said, "I think I'll go collect some extra, just in case."

"Colonel," Spencer interrupted before the man could leave, "I'm assuming whatever happened was a variation on our plan B from before. Can you tell me who took my place in helping Future Light escape and access the virtual reality device?"

"After you and I linked with the chair, it turned out Atlantis wanted to play the compromised part. It seemed safer to get as much data as possible before we send people to demolish the cloning facility." Sheppard patted the Ancient console he'd rested his hand on. "She communicated with him through the laptop, and the whole set up worked great since the clone believed his Michael version had already initiated a bond with Atlantis before he died."

"Did Atlantis come up with this plan, or did you?"

Sheppard blinked at him in a way that could only be called catty. "Believe whatever you want."

#

"Of course it's vanilla. I'm only using vanilla pudding and whipped cream," Ronon said.

It was all McKay and Sheppard's faults for talking about extra dessert.

Spencer tried not to wiggle. The tongue and nose tracing along his skin were driving him insane. Every hair on his body seemed to be standing on end, and those weren't the only parts. Ronon's skin and warmth grazed over his cock as well as other appreciative areas as the Tracker charted his bond mate by sound and scent. His shoulder and leg wounds didn't seem to be hindering him much at all.

"Will it bother your hearing if I talk?"

Ronon's head bobbed up, tongue flat and wide from licking. "I want to hear every sound you make." Spencer couldn't help but yelp as his lover's tongue made a quick pass at his vanilla coated nipple.

"Don't the food scents distract you? Or do you think I smell better this way?"

Ronon nipped at his collar bone and made Spencer squeak. "I could find your scent in the middle of an orgy in the middle of a buffet in the middle of a palace zoo in the middle of a rainforest."

Spencer chuckled and let his head roll back, "I wouldn't want to be in the middle of an orgy without you."

"Good," Ronon said without stopping as he nibbled down along Spencer's hip. "I'm not going to share you. Not for a long while. Can we discuss this later?"

"Or never," Spencer said. He guessed Ronon liked that idea when he sucked Spencer's fully erect cock deep into his throat. He eased back and let his tongue explore as Spencer moaned and gasped in response to each new sensation and what was rapidly building to be more than he could stand.

"Want to taste when you come in my mouth. Can do more after if you want."

Then Ronon's mouth was sucking wet and fast up and down. His good hand was massaging Spencer's perineum, rolling his balls, and setting one nerve ending after another on fire. Spencer came with a scream loud enough to deafen someone with just ordinary hearing. Ronon kept sucking until Spencer couldn't do more than pant.

When he was starting to cool down and his skin being sticky from dessert started to bother him, Ronon said very softly with warm breath on his ear, "I bet you haven't experienced scented Pegasus bath oils yet. Your skin is going to love them."

#

Bath oils were not at all what Spencer had expected. The steamy air around them smelled nutty, almost spicy. If there was an opposite of itchy, his skin reveled in it all over. Spencer lay on top of Ronon in the warm water, his back smooth as silk against the teasing fur of Ronon's chest. He held his legs tightly together as Ronon's cock slid, smooth but with the right amount of drag, across his perineum and behind his balls. Strong hands circled his stomach and chest, slipping easily past his nipples and erection. The water currents following the hands set Spencer shivering despite the warmth. All he could do was stroke along muscular arms and give himself over to the prolonging pace his lover set.

#

Later, in bed, Spencer lay on his side, rapt and transported. His cheek rested on Ronon's right thigh as Ronon's rested on his. They had started out teasing and both unwilling to stop regardless of whether their bodies could climax again. Now, as Spencer sucked blissfully on as much of Ronon's erection as he could, his hand caressing the rest felt how close his lover was to release. Spencer suddenly wanted it badly and forced all negative associations to the back of his mind. His own arousal flared in his consciousness with the strokes of Ronon's tongue circling and tracing in counterpoint to rolling suction.

The salty, musky smell of his lover surrounded Spencer. The smooth texture and essential taste filling his mouth sent nerve endings, touch receptors, and taste receptors into overdrive. When he came he not only swallowed around Ronon, dragging out his partner's release, he felt their desire and pleasure as a closed system. It circled between them, core and surface, physical and mental. By the time they both collapsed, Spencer wondered if he could find his own body again. Still, he reached instinctively for Ronon's free hand. Giving a squeeze and feeling one in return told him they were both present. Secure. They fell asleep as they were and didn't rearrange until chill air induced Spencer to turn around and press in close to his bond mate.

#

"It's disturbing how much I want to constantly touch you now. I was never like this before." Spencer spoke quietly as he and Ronon rushed down the hall to the Jumper Bay. Sheppard had radioed that Nok was being held hostage by the transformed Wraith settlement near their last battle.

"Keep close. We'll be okay in the field focusing on our jobs." Ronon bumped against him as if by accident, but Spencer knew it wasn't. It helped.

"Once we wrap this up, they'll want me back on Earth to report to General O'Neill and explain as much as allowed to my old team." Spencer hesitated only a moment before stating the obvious conclusion. "I don't think I can stand being separated that long. Do you think it's the newness of our bond?"

Ronon huffed as they turned a corner and brushed together again. "Some. The intensity of your emotions and touch would hit you hard anyway. Me too. They won't stop me from coming with you. Owe me back pay and vacation days anyway."

"You'll come with me?" Spencer couldn't hide his relief. "Meet my team, maybe even my mother and the bonded pair in Cascade?"

Ronon smiled his broadest grin. "Wouldn't miss it. Then I owe you a visit to Sateda."

Spencer reached out and squeezed Ronon's hand, just for a moment.

As they reached Jumper One, McKay was shouting, "That was only 11.25 hours!"

"Over twelve if you count from the start, McKay." Sheppard was starting up the Jumper as soon as they stepped on board. Carson and Teyla had already claimed the second row of seats, so Ronon and Spencer sat together in back.

"You wouldn't count it that way if I'd kept on with my work." McKay complained as they passed through the Gate.

"Carson hardly neglected you while I was distracted with Atlantis."

McKay twisted around in his seat to smile at Carson and smirk at Teyla. "It's not always about that kind of distraction, and two does not equal three or four." He turned back to Sheppard. "Then we had a simulated prisoner escape and technical complications and Woolsey calling for an update afterward. There's no way I'm trusting even your math brain to keep track of time owed me. But I'll make it worth your while when I call in the time due."

Sheppard melted a bit in his seat at that, and Spencer wondered for just a moment what exactly they did together, factoring in the mention of four that had to include Atlantis. Then Ronon bumped his knee and Spencer was back to thinking about bathtub sex and sixty-nine and all the things he and Ronon had tried together last night. Maybe his lover was right about more than the bond making it hard to stop touching. His mind was racing with all the things they still had to try together. Now that he knew how good it could be…

Teyla cleared her throat and said, "While walking with Torren on the pier this morning, Lorne joined me to discuss the last batch of infected prisoners brought in from the cloning facility and the hidden camp his team cleared out. The four left to guard the cloning work were Athosian, and were captured without incident before that location was surveyed and destroyed. The other site seemed to primarily house the elderly or less fit males taken from Utica, suggesting there were a limited set of populations infected. I have been consulting on negotiations with the worlds involved and believe the new arrivals will be no more difficult to repatriate than the others. One more pregnant woman from Utica was recovered, and she wishes for the father to still take his place in their child's life, although she insists she will never let him touch her again. A young woman back on Utica has taken charge of the rescued baby and is negotiating limited paternal rights as that father makes restitutions."

"Are the grandmothers from TikTik willing to stay involved as the men and women of Utica work though their losses and reconciliations?" Sheppard asked.

"They are family now, and the community seems very welcoming to Lieutenant Phillips as the intended bond mate of Tribal Leader Ono, as well."

Carson put in, "Our psychology staff is working with Phillips and the SGC to set up counseling and a medical discharge. Everyone seems to agree it's in his best interest to be away from Earth and Atlantis. They'll make the necessary arrangements for any required testimony and further counseling."

"Hopefully whatever situation Nok's in won't create further problems on Paca," Spencer replied.

"About that…" Carson let his comment trail off when they all shifted to see out the front viewport.

As they flew over what Spencer now knew was a settlement of transformed Wraith and Wraith worshippers, the sight that greeted them halted all conversation. While the naked man below wasn't nailed to a cross, he was tied hand and foot, as well as shoulders and knees to the metal skeleton of a windmill. It was near the end of town where they'd previously spoken to the woman hanging laundry.

No one was out and about in the gardens or fields at the moment. Sheppard parked the Jumper in a different location than before, closer to the path that led through the center of town. "Jumper Six," the Colonel called through his radio to the team that had been handling surveillance since the battle, "stay cloaked and high enough to watch from the Gate to this settlement."

"Yes, sir," replied a serious, high-pitched voice.

As they exited the Jumper, Sheppard ordered, "Beckett, stay in the Jumper, cloaked, and lock the hatch behind us. Ronon and Reid, keep watch from the trees. Teyla and McKay with me."

Ronon silently led Spencer to a good vantage point near the windmill. Spencer crouched low with his zat while Ronon stood tall with his blaster, his left calf steady beside his bond mate.

Sheppard's party walked openly toward the windmill where Nok was bound. The Healer had been stripped naked but still seemed fearsome and looming, tied with his arms spread out across the wide base of the windmill while the blade turned slowly above his head. Even though Spencer detested the man, he couldn't help but feel sympathy for someone tied and exposed out in the open like that.

Before Nok could do more than snarl at his visitors, the dark haired woman Sheppard had approached before came out of the nearest building and hailed them. "We acknowledge you came seeking this man before he brought trouble to us. Please let us know your intentions."

"We want to know what he's up to, ma'am," the Colonel said with barely concealed contempt.

"He tried to recruit one of our own to his cause and then attempted to use force when she refused. For this he has been bound and denied food or water. While our settlement is peaceful and will not kill, no one here will aid him. We know well the punishments of hunger. If others wish to aid him or kill him, he must be taken off this world and never return."

Sheppard's eyes openly scanned the settlement and woods. McKay seemed absorbed by whatever showed on his tablet, but from the tilt of his head, Spencer guessed he was at least listening to whatever else might be happening around them. Teyla kept her attention on the woman sent to speak with them.

"Your stance does you credit," Teyla said. "Am I correct in understanding that you ask nothing further but that we or one of his people should take him away and not let him bother you again?"

"Or leave him here to know hunger and isolation. Either course is acceptable to us." With that the woman turned and headed back inside.

"Not your typical hostage situation," Sheppard said.

"Are you complaining?" McKay asked, before interrupting himself with, "Gate activation."

"Jumper Six," Sheppard turned his back on the settlement and whispered into his radio, "Report."

"A single traveler has arrived and the Gate closed behind her. She is headed roughly in your direction, sir."

"Keep me posted," he replied before tapping his radio off.

"Do you plan to interrogate me again or merely kill me?" Nok asked with a scratchy voice.

Sheppard tapped a finger several times on his P90 as if thinking. "I was wondering why you came here and decided to bother these people."

"What did you do to me?" Nok asked. "I was cut off from the others. The ritual could not restore me, even when I came back here and asked other followers of the Light to try. They remained deaf to me and I to them."

"Sounds rough. How'd you piss off the Wraith worshippers?" Sheppard waited while Nok took his time to answer.

The high-pitched voice from Jumper Six reported, "You appear to have a single female in brown leather approaching you on foot. No power signature or projectile weapons that we can identify, sir."

Half a minute later, Nok broke the silence. "I am not forsaken! My spirit animal has returned. I knew this settlement had gifted ones. I came to form a bond or offer myself as a worshipper. They confined me here and my own spirit animal seemed to abandon me. But he has returned with another. I will no longer be alone!" Nok gazed intently at the ground in front of him where his snake had appeared with a larger companion.

Sheppard looked back and forth between the ground and Nok. McKay rolled his eyes and went back to whatever was on his tablet, as if he never expected people like Nok to make any sense. Teyla kept watch on the settlement, especially the building their informant had retreated inside.

Spencer looked up at Ronon and when he only received a curious glance in return, he whispered into the radio, "Nok's spirit animal is a small green and yellow snake which just appeared in the company of a large brown snake that looks a lot like a boa constrictor. I was previously able to immobilize Nok's snake by stepping on it. Do you want me to come out?"

Sheppard pretended to tap his radio, but Spencer knew it was a ruse to cover responding directly to Spencer, since he only heard the answer from the Colonel and not through his radio. "Jumper Six, no action is necessary at this time, but keep us covered and up to date." Then Sheppard was speaking directly to Nok, "Now, tell me why we shouldn't kill you or lock you up for a very long time?"

Nok glared at him. "You have done nothing to develop insights to the spirit world. I have nothing to explain to you."

"Just because I don't read snakes like tea leaves? How about explaining why you assaulted one of my men and spread a disease to young people who trusted you on your own world?"

"It is not a disease. Some do not know what they lack until after the ritual, but deep down, everyone longs to be part of something more."

Ronon shifted away suddenly.

The next thing Spencer knew, Ronon was holding his blaster to the head of a tall woman dressed in tight brown leather that almost perfectly matched her skin. Her black hair clung in tight curls along her scalp, and her eyebrows had been completely removed, or maybe she'd never had any. Spencer pointed his zat at her automatically.

"Jumper Six to Ronon and Reid, do you need assistance."

The woman stood perfectly still. "Truce gifted ones," she whispered. "I only wish to listen with you."

Spencer glanced to Ronon who gave a minute shake of his head. Spencer replied, "Situation under control for now, thanks."

Ronon and Spencer kept their weapons trained on the visitor, listening as Sheppard said, "What gave you the right to decide for them?"

"I am the Healer of Paca and the most accomplished spirit walker of the age. They are young and foolish."

"Somehow, I doubt even your own people would accept that. But as for Dr. Reid, he's not that young, he's certainly not foolish, and you had no right to decide for him."

"He has a powerful gift that he fails to appreciate and barely knows how to utilize."

"Seriously, that's your best excuse? From what I've seen, he has a lot of gifts and uses most of them pretty well. Not that it's my place to judge, and it certainly isn't yours. Besides when he tried to learn more, you were pretty grudging with your help." Sheppard leaned forward menacingly, "And then you tried to attack him a second time. Do you have any idea how angry that makes me and my people? If I don't kill you or lock you up, what's to keep you from making further trouble and other bad decisions?"

Nok fell back to silent glaring. The snakes seemed intent on each other, scenting with their tongues and occasionally hissing.

"May I?" The woman in leather asked quietly but as if she was amused and not frightened.

Ronon called out, "Sheppard, company." He followed the woman out of the trees with his blaster drawn. Spencer wasn't letting him get far away, so he followed, his zat still ready in hand.

"Well, well, you greeted our guest without me," Sheppard said.

The woman stopped in front of Teyla, "I am Sha'ot of Thimm, daughter of Lim'ot."

"I am Teyla Emmagan, daughter of Tagan. This is Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay. Perhaps you have not been introduced to Ronon Dex and Doctor Reid?"

"Greetings all," Sha'ot said, but she addressed herself mostly to Teyla. "I have heard some of the accusations against the prisoner and come to offer a solution. I work at a school for those who struggle with their gifts"—she paused—"or with their own arrogance. The little snake spirit,"—she gestured directly at Nok's green and yellow snake, which lifted its head to face her as she did so—"sought his larger brother requesting our assistance. We could offer your prisoner an education such that he would not offend his spirit guide or intrude upon others."

Teyla said, "I have heard tell of and harbor respect for the matriarchy and School of Thimm. However, I have not been present for all of the trouble my teammates have known at the hands of Healer Nok. Might we ask questions and decide as a team?"

"Yes, while my people are, as you put it, a matriarchy, we do not presume to judge based on physical manifestations. Your team is extraordinary for encompassing so many diverse gifts."

"Okaaay," Sheppard began, "No offense, but Nok here conspired with a hybrid Wraith who wanted to make a super army, hid his activities from his own people, and attacked my people both physically and using his spirit animal. What's to stop him from giving you the slip or starting some new sort of trouble with other gifted people from your planet?"

Sha'ot nodded and said, "May I demonstrate?"

Sheppard glanced at Teyla before saying, "Be my guest."

Sha'ot turned an impressive glare on Nok. "Healer Nok, do you understand that your spirit guide is prepared to leave you if you betray him or the teachings of our school?"

Nok swallowed, "Yes."

Spencer focused despite his aversion to the man. While there was pride stifling beneath the humiliation, there was nothing like Nok's concealed motives from before at the beta site.

"Do you realize your boasts of being a great spirit walker and healer depend entirely on your spirit guide and you would lose both without him?"

Nok's head dropped to his chest. "Yes."

"Do you swear to work peaceably at our school and endeavor to live a better life, in accord with your spirit guide, if we give you the opportunity to learn how?"

Nok looked up to meet Sha'ot's eyes for the first time, "Yes."

"I would cut him down to complete my demonstration, unless one of you would prefer to use your own knife?"

Spencer sensed only complete confidence from Sha'ot.

"I will do it," Teyla said.

With three strides and a few flicks of her blade, the ropes loosened and Nok fell hard to the ground, his limbs probably numb.

As he lay there groaning, Sha'ot said, "My spirit, I ask you to restrain him."

Her boa constrictor didn't move so much at reappear wrapped around Nok from his elbows to his ankles. Nok's little snake slithered over and wrapped around one ankle beneath the larger snake.

The others might not have been able to see the two snakes, but they could see Nok's body suddenly straighten with his legs pinned together, arms tight to his sides.

Sheppard looked to Spencer, "Like a boa constrictor, I'm guessing?"

"Exactly," Spencer answered.

Sha'ot turned her attention to him. "You seem the most entitled to question me, if I understand the accusations against Healer Nok."

Spencer's mind was full of questions, about the School of Thimm and, knowing that was real, about the Library of Taho that Teyla had mentioned as another lost place. He stifled those questions for the time being, looked around at his new team and said, "Could you keep us safe while I try something?"

Ronon nodded as if he understood. The others looked a bit confused but nodded as well. Spencer put his zat away and stepped so he was mostly behind Ronon, hand pressed to his side. He took hold of the string that seemed to represent their bond in his mind. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated on his ferret-like spirit animal, trying to invite it to appear or express an opinion.

He felt his success before he even opened his eyes. The lithe spirit creature looped once around Spencer's leg before scurrying over to hiss at the green and yellow snake. The little snake tilted his head but didn't hiss back.

From the way the others reacted, it was clear Ronon, Sha'ot, and Nok had been watching the whole time. Sheppard and Teyla were following the direction of other's attention. McKay gave every appearance of being wrapped up in his work.

Spencer's ferret trotted along the length of Nok's boa constrictor wrapped body. It met the constrictor's eyes for a long moment and then went on to hiss at Nok in a truly frightful way with mouth wide open and lots of teeth on display.

Nok cringed but didn't say anything. The ferret turned to Sha'ot and held her gaze.

"Are you talking telepathically to my spirit animal?" Spencer asked.

Sha'ot snorted. "I assure you the communication is one way. He is assessing me."

Then all at once the ferret returned to climb Spencer and wrap around his neck. His presence was warm and reassuring. Spencer realized he was still touching Ronon's side and holding mentally to their bond as he felt a sense of warmth and "yes" pass along that connection. "I guess that's good enough approval for me."

Sha'ot stared intently at Spencer as she said, "I am pleased with your spirit's approval. He is welcome to seek us out if you ever wish to visit or learn more. Someone among our faculty would most likely be able to provide whatever teaching Nok or others denied you. Although to my sight, you seem to handle your gifts well." She glanced around at the others. "Are there further questions?"

"Yes," McKay said. "If magic is in some framework just sufficiently advanced science, then maybe you can help me understand this settlement." He waved haphazardly to encompass the buildings behind him. "These people used to be Wraith and Wraith worshippers. They're among the very few who survived the transformation to become basically human, and they claim they wanted nothing to do with the Wraith hybrid who was trying to create his own master race or mass bonding exercise or whatever."

Sha'ot looked at McKay as if he was a raving lunatic, but to her credit, she continued to listen.

McKay seemed oblivious to her reaction. "There are power sources in those buildings based on Wraith technology that have nothing to do with these windmills. They've got their own collection of humans, some of whom have gifts. Do you have any way of telling if they're really the peaceful, private types they claim to be or if they're about to hatch their own clone army or scheme to take over the galaxy?"

"I know the answer to your question, but by the codes of my school, I am not allowed to tell you. However, what I can offer is that Nok's spirit communed with mine when he came seeking help. Now they have both shared with Dr. Reid's spirit what they know, regarding the trouble Nok was involved in and what is happening in this settlement. He may not understand it clearly until he settles further into his gifts. However, Dr. Reid should be able to verify there is nothing for you to fear here and no lingering issues you need worry about with Nok."

Spencer wasn't sure he knew any such thing, but his doubts were met with another warm pulse of warmth and "yes" along what he'd thought of as his bond to Ronon. He now suspected it bonded them to their spirit animals as well. Reaching a hand up, he touched the ferret around his neck and hoped it knew he was trying to understand and would keep trying as well as he could. That made the warmth along his bond take on a happy tinge that he couldn't help but enjoy.

Ronon pulled him in tight to his side. Spencer looked around to see Teyla smiling at them and Sheppard rolling his eyes.

McKay said, "That's even less scientific than magic. Guess it means we can head back and get some lunch, right?"

Sheppard nudged McKay with an elbow.

Sha'ot said to Nok, "You must be hungry and eager to go as well. I'm sure you'd prefer to walk without my spirit's supervision."

The brown snake again appeared to teleport. Suddenly Nok was unwrapped and the large brown snake was leading the way back to the Gate.

Nok pushed up to his feet, looking sore and embarrassed but quite capable of walking when given the chance.

Sha'ot leaned her forehead to Teyla's with care and respectful distance, hands barely touching each other's forearms.

"I hope we will meet again," Teyla said.

"I would be happy to meet you or any of your team again," Sha'ot said with a quick look around the group. Then she took Nok by the arm and led him away at a punishing pace. His nudity did not seem to bother her at all. Spencer suspected Nok would not find his initial lessons pleasant, but he might learn some humility.

On the way back to the Jumper, Ronon asked the team at large, "You think her school is more like Hogwarts or Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters?"

#

The phone rang several times before Penelope's familiar voice chided, "If one of you besties lost your phone again, you are totally in for the 'protect your tech talk.' Anyone else, this is a very private number and you do not want to know what this bad ass mother of fortune can do now that I have your number."

"Good to know some things never change," Spencer answered, smile so big it hurt his face. "Sorry I had to borrow a phone."

"Reid!" The squeal over the phone was so loud Ronon mimed covering his ears while standing a foot away in the airport rental car lot. "Is my long lost bestie finally ready to be found?"

"Well, it's only been a month, but I happen to be in town for a couple of days. I brought along my boyfriend, Ronon—" That was surprisingly satisfying to say, even before Penelope cut him off.

"Now! I could leave work now! No one will stand in my way! Should I bring the whole team? They're on paperwork today. Or do you need to do something official first? Oh, and I have paper mail for you, from one of the little boys in Cascade. I can just tell it's a thank you note! Even the envelope is so cute!"

Spencer basked for a moment in the joy of a Penelope ramble, so different from his own or McKay's. "Well, I guess you might already know some of the official follow up then. Think we could get together at someone's house? I stole the idea from Rossi's dinner for my new assignment, but I don't think Ronon's ever had home-cooked Italian."

"Rossi will do it. He totally misses you even if he won't say it. And Hotch will make him cook if he doesn't fold immediately. And I'll make cupcakes. Do I have time to stop home for ingredients? Where are you? How soon can I see you?"

Spencer realized it was all real. Diaz had been sent through the Gate with them to face military justice for what he had done. Others on Atlantis were rallying to build community and understanding. The young victims in Cascade and all those infected in Pegasus had been cured and were being looked after. He had a new job in another galaxy where he was fitting in fine. "We could make it to Rossi's in an hour. And if you're stopping home, do you have a copy of _Real Genius_ I could borrow? Ronon made me watch _Harry Potter_ and _X-Men_ to see the schools, so I want to counter with the film version of Caltech."

"Oh, movie night! Me, too!"

Spencer had to laugh, "Yeah, he's used to team movie nights. We'll combine traditions."

"Start driving now. I can't wait to meet your man and hug the stuffing out of both of you!"

Spencer stared at the phone after Penelope hung up. He was about to introduce his future to his past, and his heart was racing.

"Sounds fun," Ronon said. He plucked the phone Spencer had borrowed from SGC out of his hand and dropped it into the messenger bag Spencer carried. Then Ronon wrapped Spencer in a stuffing squeezing hug even Penelope would admire.

#


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with the BAU team—totally optional for those who don't care about Criminal Minds. I consider the story complete without this part.

"Guy lives here alone?" Ronon asked, surveying the upscale Virginia neighborhood as if they'd just stepped through the Stargate.

Spencer had only visited Rossi's house once before. That time he'd been late, arriving well after dark, and distracted already by thoughts of leaving his BAU team. He hadn't realized that the white house was actually a mansion with a covered porch the size of many dwellings in Pegasus.

"Guess it's not much like San Francisco, let alone most places in…" It was a bit cold for open windows. Spencer didn't think anyone could overhear as they came up the walkway, but it was better not to take chances with saying too much while on Earth.

Ronon caught his hand and gave it a warm squeeze. "Sheppard's dad had a bigger place, but it was staffed like a hotel and had lots of guests, least when we were there." Spencer had inferred the Colonel came from a wealthy background. The mask of social charm he slipped on for diplomacy came across as American old money. But Spencer was surprised he'd taken Ronon to meet his family. During their week of leave, Spencer hoped to learn a lot more about his bond mate's varied experiences.

Before they could ring the bell, the front door opened, and a Penelope-sized cyclone in pink and black accessories wrapped herself around Spencer. "Less than a year, less than a month." She hugged all the air out of Spencer's lungs, but he couldn't tell her, because he couldn't get a word in edgewise. "I knew you'd miss me. Can I keep you?" She turned her head to look Ronon up and down, not letting go, but loosening her hold a bit. She was one of the few people who hugged long enough for Spencer to relax and find the contact reassuring. He hugged her back with the hand Ronon wasn't holding. "I wouldn't mind sharing you with Ronon. Is it okay for us to call you Ronon? Most of them call me Garcia, but you can call me Penelope if you want, or Goddess, or Tech Siren. I take flattery very well. Now I'm going to hug you."

Just like that, Penelope released Spencer and wrapped her arms around Ronon.

Ronon showed no hesitation in hugging back with both arms, letting go of Spencer for the time being.

When Penelope finally stepped back she said, "Okay, I approve. He gives good hugs, and I feel better knowing you've got someone like him for back up."

"Perhaps we could let them in the front door now?" Rossi said from just inside, holding the door wide open. The smell of Italian spices and tomato sauce drifted out. "I'm David Rossi. Welcome to my home."

Ronon nodded and ducked inside, "Thanks."

"Rossi, this is Ronon," Spencer began as he followed. The whole team had already arrived and was standing in the entry foyer and a sitting room to the side. "Ronon, this it Rossi, Hotch, Morgan, Emily, and JJ."

Ronon nodded again and positioned himself to one side, between Spencer and JJ.

"Good to meet you," Hotch said, holding out a hand.

Ronon made the rounds shaking hands better than Spencer ever could. Despite the others wearing office attire while Ronon wore a long sleeved black shirt and jeans that he'd pulled from a suitcase at SGC, his confidence carried the image of a successful business man, albeit the strong silent type.

"Where are you from anyway?" Morgan asked, with only a nod to greet Spencer first.

"That's classified," Spencer cut in, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice.

"Come on, pretty boy, he can at least give us a country." The anger and suspicion practically poured off Morgan then, making Spencer tense.

Spencer was about to argue when Ronon answered, "Got an American passport." He stepped in close so his arm pressed against Spencer's reassuringly.

"Really?" Spencer said, and then instantly felt stupid. That was something he should definitely know about someone he was dating, even if it had only been a few weeks. JJ's raised eyebrows showed she thought the same, even if she kept silent for the time being.

"Bet you can't tell us the story behind that either," Morgan said, voice dangerously low. "You know what they say about a dangerous man who's changed sides once?"

Ronon stepped forward, a flex of muscles under his black shirt and a subtle change of stance reminded Spencer of how he'd read Ronon's body language as aggressive and possibly criminal when they first met. "You change sides to join your team?"

"My team doesn't snatch people away without a medical check after they've been held hostage at knife point and then electrocuted."

Ronon spoke to Spencer without turning away from Morgan, his tone much calmer than the concern Spencer felt along their bond, "Here, too?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Emily stepped closer, clearly ready to question Spencer's recent employment. Suddenly Spencer felt closed in and insecure, like a kid when the adults were arguing. It was something he hadn't felt his whole time in Atlantis.

Rossi saved them by saying, "Into the kitchen everyone. It is time to make dinner." As they shuffled through to the marble topped kitchen island where Rossi had hosted them once before, Spencer placed himself between Morgan and Ronon. Once again there was Italian music playing, although not the same songs. The kitchen was pleasantly warm and steamy.

Spencer found himself suspended between worlds in a way that reminded him of when he'd met Amy. She'd remembered him from the magnet school where he'd almost fit in and rescued him in public high school where neither of them felt welcome. Now he was with his BAU team, where he'd carved out a niche for himself over the years, but everything looked different after the galactic revelations and personal intensity of his time on Atlantis.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

"Behind me," Rossi said with a grand gesture toward a bubbling pot on the stove, "is my homemade tomato sauce with pork and sausages, which would have taken hours to make, so you are lucky I had some in my freezer and am willing to share." With a small, satisfied smile he threw a kitchen towel over his shoulder and asked Ronon, "Is there anything you don't eat?"

Ronon let out an amused huff, "No."

"Very good. In honor of Spencer's return I'm making a dish from Abruzzo, spinach and cheese ravioli with sugar. Do you know anything of the Abruzzo region of Italia?" Rossi was still focused on Ronon, so Spencer bit back all the interesting facts he knew about the region.

"No," Ronon said with his head held high.

Rossi started cracking eggs into a bowl shaped mound of durum wheat flour on the counter. "Let me guess, all you know of Italy is the flag and spaghetti."

Ronon nodded but said with what passed as a smirk for him, "Lasagna in MREs."

"A travesty," Rossi said, "but not unexpected."

"McKay likes them."

"Who's McKay?" Penelope asked, as Rossi added salt and beat the eggs into the flour with a fork.

When Ronon stayed quiet, Spencer took over. "Part of the team I was working with. Sorry I never managed to send you a picture with everyone. McKay has doctorates in physics and engineering. He also uses plenty of snarky nicknames for people. You'd probably be amused. He rambles like I do, except more often about the physical sciences, and he handles computers and technology much better."

"Did someone end up printing everything out for you there as well?" JJ asked, as she cheerfully elbowed Penelope whose face fell at the implied insult. Spencer could tell she was about to make excuses on his behalf.

"Actually, I didn't have any real tech problems this last month, and pretty much nothing there is on paper." Ronon pressed close at Spencer's side.

Penelope beamed at them. "And the kid you sent a picture of, Torren, was the son of someone on your team?"

"Teyla. She's on the team with McKay, Ronon, and Colonel Sheppard. I was also assigned to help her with some internal diplomacy and community policing." Spencer continued just to hear Penelope squeal, "She convinced me to teach a children's center group about geographic profiling and behavioral analysis."

Sure enough, Penelope squealed and bounced until her earrings bobbed up and down.

"Good for you," Hotch added. His smile looked genuine, and no one asked if there had been more child victims involved in their case. Hotch had probably been given an only slightly censored version of the report that Spencer submitted for the case. With that much access to the classified nature of his current assignment, it was as if nothing had changed between him and Hotch. "And Jack loved the picture of you and Torren making boats."

As Rossi finished kneading the dough, he recaptured everyone's attention as he made a filling of spinach, ricotta, parmesan, nutmeg, more eggs, and finally, two heaping spoonfuls of sugar.

Emily finally spoke up saying, "Spencer puts more sugar than that in a cup of coffee." He didn't mind her gentle teasing. It was good to see Emily settled back with the team, no longer ignoring him or trying to appease Morgan. Spencer realized that with time and counseling, it was easy to feel comfortable around Emily again.

"Luckily, the rest of us don't have to share any of Spencer's coffee," Rossi noted. Then he set them all to running their own sections of dough through a pasta roller, scooping out mounds of the cheese mixture, and finally shaping and cutting with a ravioli wheel. There wasn't any more real conversation until they had all boiled their pasta and added sauce and more parmesan to suit their individual tastes.

"So Ronon," Emily began at the table, "any good stories you can share about Spencer since he changed jobs?"

Ronon looked at her as if she was speaking a language he did not understand, an experience Spencer realized Pegasus natives, at least those who traveled through Stargates from a young age, would never have.

After a few moments of silence Hotch said to Rossi, "Wonderful sauce. It offsets the sweetness of the ravioli perfectly."

"Thank you," Rossi dipped his head. "Bet they don't serve anything like this where you're posted." His gaze included Spencer and Ronon in the implied question.

Ronon forked a large ravioli into his mouth and grunted his approval. Spencer said, "No, and you were right to think I'd like it. I did borrow from your example and started a group that cooks and shares dinner. We learned to make samosas and pakora. Then we missed a lesson on bouillabaisse but were given some to eat anyway. That reminds me, I brought gifts." Spencer dug into his shoulder bag and brought out the Athosian spices, which Teyla had helped pack into small clay pots tied with ribbons. "Teyla says this is called 'shana pasut' and her people use it like salt, in all sorts of things. We had it on popcorn."

"Movie night!" Penelope gushed and picked up a beribboned pot. The others took theirs with nods of thanks. "I brought _Real Genius_ like you asked, as well as your letter from Jonathon." Penelope reached into her bag and handed over a DVD case and an envelope sealed with dog stickers.

When JJ and Emily raised their eyebrows Spencer said, "They introduced me to _X-Men_ and _Harry Potter_. I'd brought my _Dr. Who_ collection with me, but I thought Ronon might like to see a fictional version of where I went to school. We've talked a lot about different upbringings, types of education, and societal expectations."

Spencer ignored the looks exchanged around the table as he opened his envelope, careful not to tear any dog stickers.

Rossi asked Ronon, "You like American movies?"

Ronon nodded. "Like _Dr. Who_ and anime, too."

"Let me guess, your job involves protecting a bunch of geeks," Morgan said. He phrased it as a jest but was back to radiating hostility, and Spencer couldn't remember it ever being so strong before. Then again, he'd never left for a month and come back with a boyfriend. The bond with Ronon that sharpened his empathic gifts made it hard to judge if Morgan was truly more upset than usual, or if this was a normal expression of his friend's volatile temper and Spencer was simply more sensitive to it now.

Ronon slurped down a mouthful of pasta. No one commented on his table manners, and his appreciation of the food was obvious. "Geeks are good. We all rescue each other."

Morgan lowered his eyebrows. "You have to rescue Reid yet?"

Ronon shrugged.

"Yes," Spencer admitted, "twice."

"You do bring out the protector in people," JJ said. She sounded motherly, in a way that grated on Spencer, but he didn't sense nearly as much negativity from her as from Morgan.

"He's a protector." The look Ronon leveled at JJ was intense and seemed to leave her speechless. Spencer realized he hadn't said much that was good about her over the last month, so Ronon was reacting more strongly to the assumptions that Spencer had never fully registered in the past.

"Sounds like there's a story there, if you can tell it." When Rossi didn't get an answer from Ronon, he flicked his eyes to Spencer. As one of the original behavioral analysts, Rossi had his own repertoire of looks that could make people talk.

"I just do what's needed," Spencer said. "There was one target who called out for help shortly after we interviewed him, and I was first on the scene to stop that attack, but Ronon ended up doing more there."

When Spencer stopped talking, Ronon nudged him. When Spencer couldn't think of anything to add, Ronon started talking, slow and even, as if listing steps in a complicated procedure. "First village he went to was abandoned. Some local girls hiding out in the woods caught us all. Spencer negotiated us out. Then he insisted someone go help those girls. Got them grandmothers."

"You do have a peculiar knack for talking people down," JJ spoke as if she couldn't understand it, but the words still came out as mostly a compliment. That was enough for Spencer.

Finally opening his card, he found a hand drawn picture of himself, Jonathon, and the dog called Pepper. Printed carefully beneath it were the words, "Thank you for bringing me back to Pepper and everything." Spencer smiled and passed the card around the table. He was surprised when Ronon, usually laconic around others, continued talking about him.

"You should have heard him put a couple Marines in their place for mistreating a local science tech. Led to a bunch of cultural awareness meetings for everyone. He made friends with all sorts of locals and people on base, spent two days as envoy to a university, tracked down some missing kids, taught some little kids, enlisted their parents' help, hatched the idea for a bread of the week club in addition to starting the cooking groups." With that Ronon dug back into his huge plate of pasta.

"I'm so glad you're fitting in!" Penelope said brightly. Spencer was a little shocked in that moment by how true it seemed. "Since you mentioned the cooking groups on the phone, and well, I was a little rushed to get here before you, I brought piping bags and frosting tips so I can teach you to decorate cupcakes if you want. I baked devil's food cupcakes. They just aren't frosted yet."

Spencer couldn't help but smile back at the genuine caring and enthusiasm that encompassed Penelope. "I'd like that very much." He followed Penelope from the table saying, "You know, devil's food cake is truly a twentieth century food. No mentions of it are found before 1900. The name is both a humorous allusion to the dark chocolate richness and a play off of the historically earlier angel food cake."

As he helped Penelope set up a decorating station, Spencer noticed Hotch whispering to Ronon in a back corner of the room. He turned, ready to support his bond mate, but Penelope said, "Let it be. You can't stop the shovel talk."

Spencer gaped. "You think I should let him threaten my boyfriend?"

"Would you want Ronon to rescue you from someone giving a friendly warning?" Penelope handed him a funnel shaped bag with a large metal open star tip. "And just for the record, I will find a way to hack his life into misery if he hurts you."

"He wouldn't—" Spencer began. Then he just laughed at the idea of Penelope trying to cyber attack someone who didn't even have a credit card, at least as far as Spencer knew.

"Don't worry." Penelope said and she demonstrated how to angle and squeeze the bag of frosting. "I trust your intuition about people, and there's no way you'd let him close so fast if he wasn't something very special."

Spencer looked away from the yellow frosting he was spiraling onto the cupcake to say, "You're the best, Penelope."

"I know." She beamed. "By the way, you're frosting the table."

Spencer rushed to contain his mess. Then he felt a flair of anger along his bond and also from Morgan someplace behind him. When he glanced around, Hotch and Emily were tidying the kitchen with Rossi. Morgan and JJ were in the corner with Ronon.

"Spencer's shooting skills are fine." Ronon bit the words out, almost too low to hear. "Better than anyone on base but the military. Hear he spent hours each week improving them while you left him to grieve over a lie. Why do your people do that?" Ronon's voice rose to a level where everyone in the room stopped to listen. "And why is he so untrained in hand to hand after eight years of ops? In one hour I taught him half of what a batch of new Marines know. I would never treat him as carelessly as you did."

Penelope stood on her toes, and stated strong and proud. "And that is the best way to end a shovel talk ever. I award you my first cupcake."

As Penelope carried a beautiful cupcake with pink and white icing piled as high as the cake was deep to a suddenly very pleased Ronon, Morgan and JJ stepped back, shaking their heads. Rossi walked forward saying, "I figured you had to be from an international mission, knowing the Italian flag but only the types of pasta served in MREs or mess halls. I won't ask where your military training came from, but if you have time while you're in town, I'd love a demonstration of how you taught hand to hand with Spencer. I still have friends who teach at the FBI academy and elsewhere. And while I can't dismiss Morgan's earlier assertion that you read as a dangerous man, your concern for Spencer telegraphs in every move you make around him and every word you say. Even how much you'll say when it's clear you'd rather not." Rossi paused and met Ronon's eyes with respect. "Without meeting the rest of Spencer's new team, I'm willing to say that if he had to leave us, I'm glad he ended up with you." Rossi patted Ronon on the back as the last of the cupcake disappeared into his mouth.

Morgan managed to slide in beside Spencer then and say, "Guess I was an ass. I thought a guy like that might take advantage of you, but maybe I underestimated you both."

Spencer would have recognized the sincere contrition in Morgan's voice even if he wasn't picking up his humility and caring loud and clear. Maybe the expansiveness of Morgan's feelings had been part of what endeared him to Spencer long before he'd understood about gifts or Guides. "For that heartfelt declaration, my friend, I award you my first cupcake."

Spencer handed over his monstrous mess of a cupcake with yellow icing—like heaped up tentacles that had been partially smashed where they'd spilled off one side of the cake.

Morgan laughed and said, "Looks great, pretty boy." He took a big bite and wrapped an arm around Spencer's shoulders. It was a hug Spencer could wholeheartedly appreciate.

The end


End file.
